


Dirty Windows

by TheGingerSnapped



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Eyes Are The Windows To The Soul, F/M, Romance, Shitty Writing, Soulmate AU, Swearing, Torture, im only a little sorry, it was a poor attempt at being clever, mild PTSD, slowburn, so much damn swearing, solemate, the windows are dirty, title is subject to change cause its a shitty title, word prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-10-03 12:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 67,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10245617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGingerSnapped/pseuds/TheGingerSnapped
Summary: A Soulmate AU-Hancock never thought he would find his soulmate. Once a common occurrence, soulmates turned into a bit of a rarity after the bombs dropped. It was to be expected when there was an influx of people getting shot in the face on a daily basis. So when Hancock discovered that he had a soulmate he was ecstatic; all of the people in the Commonwealth, and he was one of the lucky few.Too bad his soulmate didn't want anything to do with him.(Summary needs to be updated. The slow burn ain't all that slow.)





	1. 096. Writer's Choice: Connect

096\. Writer’s Choice: Connect

 

Hancock took a steady puff of his cigarette, letting the smoke seep into his lungs before he exhaled nice and slow through his nose. The smoke seeped from the nasal cavity, it dipped and curled around his face, catching around the corner of his hat before depleting into nothingness. Another drag, and another exhale, and then Hancock sighed dramatically, a contemplative frown marring his already distorted features. Six cigarettes and a canister of jet had proven that exhaling perfect smoke rings was a feat that required actual lips – that, or he was too fucking stoned to do it right. He finished off the cigarette, stomping out the ash in an overfilled ashtray. He reached for his mentats tin. Why not end the night on a high note?

Hancock snickered to himself, “On'a _high_ note.” He fumbled with the tin for a moment, eventually managing to lodge the blunt end of his thumbnail into the lid. The little tin box opened with a satisfying pop of sound. One of the tablets was placed onto his tongue and it immediately began to disintegrate. The tablet turned chalky. Hancock eventually rolled his tongue around his mouth, coating his teeth and gums with the almost gone tablet. When he swallowed his entire mouth felt gritty but his mind was already feeling pleasantly fuzzy. The ghoul sank into the couch, his mind fumbling over a variety of thoughts and ideas. His drug addled brain mulled over anything from maybe possibly starting a garden, to the scientific theories that he had read about in an old science book he had stashed in his desk. Hancock pondered the possibilities of multiple universes, time travel, and quantum teleportation. As his thoughts traveled from one idea to another, he stared up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, his mouth slightly parted. 

When he started hearing whispers he thought nothing of it. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He’d had hallucinations before, it wasn’t really a big deal. Within seconds, the voice got louder and more frantic. 

_"Nate! No, Nate, please! Wake up!"_

The ghoul’s eyebrows furrowed. When he focused on the voice the world around him seemed to change. He was no longer sitting in his office in Goodneighbor. Instead, he was frantically clutching at a blue jumpsuit, vision blurry with tears. It was a man, limp and heavy. 

_"Nate! God, please don’t do this! NATHAN!"_

Dead. The word was a whisper across his subconscious. He was pressing his face into the blue material that covered the man’s chest, gripping at it for all he was worth. His heart was breaking, shattering into pieces and leaving him numb and empty.

A sudden hand on his arm made his body jolt. The vision of the dead man was very abruptly ripped from him and in its place was Fahrenheit’s face. She was blurry, swimming in wavering tears. He was crying. Fuck, he was sobbing. His shoulders heaved, his lungs hungrily took in air with massive, frantic gulps. 

For all of a moment, Fahrenheit looked somewhat amused. Her right eyebrow was lifted towards her hairline and her lips were quirked into a smirk. Then her expression changed. The smile vanished, the eyebrow lowered and then a look of wide-eyed understanding crossed her features. Her callused fingers cupped Hancock’s cheeks just as the ghoul was coming back to himself. He sniffled, the tears that had been cascading down his destroyed cheeks abruptly came to a stop as if the well had suddenly run dry. He blinked, he took one more gasp for air. 

“S-sorry,” he rasped. His voice was weak. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. That was, uh. That—“ Though he wanted to blame it all on the chems, he knew that that wasn’t exactly the case. For some Goddamn reason the Powers That Be decided to gift Hancock with a soulmate. He was shocked. He was elated. 

Fahrenheit’s voice was barely audible when she said, “You’ve found them.”

“It’s a woman.”

“What does she look like? What’s her name?”

Hancock shook his head, reaching for his smokes that were in his pocket – anything to stop the shaking of his hands. “I dunno. It’s exactly how they say. Y'see through their eyes. All I saw was her hands. And I heard her voice.”

“Who is Nate?” When Hancock glanced at Fahrenheit she added, “You were saying his name.”

There was no way for Hancock to know who Nate was, and yet he did. Hancock knew exactly who Nate was. Nate was his soulmate’s dead husband. Hancock swore, chucking the pack of cigarettes to the floor in a fit of irritation. Leave it to the universe to give him one of the best gifts anyone could ever receive, and then somehow manage to completely fuck him over with it. 

Fuck you, too, universe. Fuck. You. Too.


	2. 044. Pretend

044\. Pretend

The moment the bullet entered Nate’s body, Nora had felt pain blossom throughout the entirety of her being. The pain started in her chest, where the bullet had entered Nate’s skin, and then it blossomed throughout every inch of her body as part of her soul was torn from hers. With Nate being in the military, Nora had read extensively about losing a soulmate. The sensation had been compared to being burned alive, and then there was the following emptiness that followed soon after. Nora had assumed that it was all a harsh exaggeration; it wasn’t. For a brief moment of time that felt like it drew on for hours, Nora’s entire being was wracked with debilitating pain – and then there was nothing. Nothing but the emptiness. Part of her was suddenly gone forever. She was dropped in the middle of the ocean, drifting among the waves with no land in sight. 

But just as suddenly she had been cast adrift, she found land. 

The emptiness was filled the moment it had been created. For a moment, Nora thought that maybe, just maybe, Nate was still alive. But he wasn’t. As she gripped his vault suit and begged him to open his eyes, Nora found herself at the horrifying realization that she had _another_ soulmate. There had been very few people who had been fortunate enough to be gifted with more than one soulmate in a single lifetime. It was a true rarity. Nora remembered watching more than a couple news stories that covered the topic. Those people always seemed so elated, and happy. Nora found herself rather bitter, and more than infuriated. She wasn’t given time to properly grieve before some stranger was thrust into Nate’s spot. 

So, for the days after she left the vault, Nora pretended that this new soulmate didn’t exist. She ignored the man’s rasping voice as he reached out to her through their newly forged bond. As the man figured out how their bond actually worked, Nora was busy steadfastly pretending that he didn’t exist. Instead of paying the stranger any mind, Nora dove head first into searching for the man who killed her husband and kidnapped her kid. It wasn’t easy. Her new soulmate was insistent, and Nora had absolutely no clue what she was doing. She had always been a lousy shot, even with Nate’s persistent teaching. Though she knew how to throw a halfway decent punch, she knew that she wasn’t skilled enough to take down an enemy. 

Nora had found that she was better off sneaking by anyone who could be perceived as a threat. This new world that she found herself in just wasn’t for her. She didn’t know the first thing about surviving in this new wasteland, she didn’t know how to fight, she didn’t know how to pick locks and she didn’t know how to hack any of the still functioning terminals. Her new soulmate seemed to be filled to the brim with helpful advice, though. 

_“Yer doin' that wrong, ya know.”_

Nora resisted the urge to respond as she slowly slipped a bobby pin into the small lock. It was dark, and she decided to hunker down in an abandoned house that still held some of its structural integrity. She had slipped in through a broken window, managing to do so without sustaining any injuries from the lingering glass. Locking herself in one of the home’s upstairs rooms, she pulled a small tool box from her backpack. Though she didn’t know what was inside, Nora had decided to take the little box with her for the sake of getting in some practice. With her back to the wall and her Pip-Boy lighting the room, Nora made herself comfortable before getting to work. The bobby pin slid into the lock – only to have that man’s damn voice filling her head and interrupting her thoughts. There was no getting rid of him. The bond had to be stronger for that sort of thing. Until then, he could look in on her whenever he pleased.

 _“Y'have the wrong end of the pin in the lock, sweetheart.”_ he insisted. 

The guy was persistent in his use of endearments, and though she couldn’t really fault him. She still hadn’t given him her name, while he had offered his almost instantly. She refused to acknowledge him by name – even if it was silently. Nora pretended as though she didn’t hear him – that was something that she _could_ do. She faked trying to unlock the box for a moment or two before removing the pin. After making a point of examining the pin, she turned it around and slid the correct end into the lock. 

_“That’s my girl.”_

Nora seethed. At least he couldn’t read her thoughts. She took a calming breath. He wasn’t there. He didn’t exist. She willed him away but she couldn’t get him out of her head. Even after years of marriage, Nora had barely been able to push Nate away. With some high-tech equipment and a bit of training, Nate had been capable of completely blocking Nora from accessing their bond at all. Deployed personnel wouldn’t be much use if they were letting themselves get distracted by their soulmates while out in the field. Maybe some of that tech still existed. Nora wondered how much it would set her back. It had been pricey back then – she wondered how much it would be now.

_“Now gently jiggle the—“_

Nora’s gaze suddenly tore to the bedroom door. 

_“What?”_

To make a point, Nora lurched forward and pressed her ear to the bedroom door. Thankfully, she didn’t have to audibly tell the man to shut up when the voices continued to drift around the empty spaces of the house. Two voices – maybe three? Nora closed her eyes tight and listened. Definitely three. Cursing softly, she shifted to grab her pistol. 

_“Sweetheart, get outta there.”_

Shut up, she wanted to say. _Just shut up._

The voices stayed somewhat distant, the occasional bump and thud of noise making her flinch as she frantically put together some kind of plan. The room had a window, it was boarded up but the wood looked splintered and fragile. With a little bit of force, she might be able to pull the board free. Keeping her pistol handy, she loaded up her pack and shouldered the familiar weight. Slowly, so slowly, she stepped towards the window. 

The floor creaked under her weight and she froze all together, a cold sweat building on her forehead. 

Shit.

The voices quieted, and Nora grit her teeth. 

_“Please – please get out of there. Now!”_

“Shu—“ she silenced herself immediately, her body lurching towards the window as she heard footsteps clambering up the stairs. Using more strength than was actually required, the board broke away from the windowsill just as the doorknob began to jiggle. 

The intruders were yelling, tearing at the door, at the walls, trying to get at her because that was the world she lived in now. People were desperate and they were violent. If they didn’t murder her, they might rape her. They might keep her as a slave. This place, this world, was hell. She was slipping out the destroyed window and onto the roof just as there was a crack of noise and the door bowed inward. 

Meanwhile, the man at the other end of the bond was feeding her instructions, _”Hurry, get away from the window. Find a way down – there was a garage, right? Go to the garage.”_

Nora followed the instructions, shuffling along the dangerously slanted roof towards the side of the house the garage was on. The garage was separate from the house, and the structure was shorter. She would have to make a jump for it, but she could use the house’s height to her advantage. 

_”Jump – hurry!”_ Nora hesitated, gauging the distance – and that’s where everything went to shit. In the midst of her uncertainty her assailants were able to get the drop on her. Gunfire tore through the quiet night, echoing over the sound of her rushing blood and pounding heart and rambling soulmate. The bullet tore into her shoulder, and Nora screamed before she pitched her body forward. 

_“Fuck!”_

It wasn’t the running leap that she really needed. Her foot caught the rain gutter that lined the garage and her weight tore it from the rotting structure. Nora’s arms shot out to grasp at the remaining shingles, but it was no use. She was hurt, and she was panicked – and she fell to the ground in a heap. The backpack did very little to cushion her fall. That damn toolbox she had been so set on keeping drove into her spine with breathtaking force. Using all of her strength she rolled herself to her hands and knees, then hauled herself to her feet. 

Then she made a mad dash into the night. 

Bullets whizzed by, kicking up dirt and pebbles as they slammed into the ground around her. 

_“Keep goin’. Don’t stop.”_

She didn’t need him to tell her that. 

Nora ran. She ran until she could barely breathe, and then she ran a minute more. Eventually, she collapsed in the debris of an old building, tucking herself into an alcove of wood, and metal, and concrete. Shivering, and gasping, she collapsed onto her knees. After a moment of rest she tied a swatch of old cloth around her shoulder to hopefully staunch the blood flow. Teary and shaking, she searched her bag for her med kit. There were some pain meds in there – or she hoped there was. 

_“Tell me where you are. I will come get you.”_

There was a bottle of pills, but she didn’t know what type of pills they were. She didn’t want to chance turning on her light to read the label. She shook the pills into her palm anyway, the capsules nearly shaking right out of her hand. 

_“Please. Let me come get you. Yer gonna need stitches. Just let me look at yer Pip-Boy, I will be there in a few hours,”_ He sounded desperate, his voice soft and shaky. The man must have felt her pain. He felt the gunshot, and he felt the rush of falling from the roof, the impact. This sort of thing happened – and it would keep happening until the bond was stronger. Until then, he would experience whatever intense sensations she experienced when he was accessing their bond. 

The pills were tossed into her mouth and she swallowed them dry. The bullet needed to be removed but she would need light to do that – and she refused to give away her position. It could wait until morning. 

_“Baby, please.”_

Nora shifted, sinking back further into her hiding place. As she pressed her cheek to cold cement, she pretended that she was home, and safe. 

_“I am_ begging _you to tell me where you are. I can take care of ya – just—“_

Her eyelids drooped, and the voice faded away.


	3. 032. Mirror

032\. Mirror

 

Hancock couldn’t link up with his soulmate while she was sleeping, so he spent the rest of the night pacing. He didn’t need any chems to stay awake, and he didn’t feel inclined to take them. He nursed a couple of cigarettes, but instead of savoring the gentle buzz of nicotine, he used the little stick of tobacco to occupy his shaking hands. He almost lost his soulmate, and there had been absolutely nothing he could do about it. It had been terrifying. During the ordeal, Hancock was able to feel his soulmate’s fear, the frantic beat of her heart next to his, and the searing pain of the bullet tearing through her skin. Though none of the injuries made their way to his own person, his shoulder still throbbed. 

Eventually, he sank into his couch with a couple fingers of whiskey. He took a swig and puffed his cigarette, feeling dazed and still quite shaken. The drink managed to take some of the edge off, and he no longer felt the urge to finish his cigarette. He stamped the burning end into his overflowing ash tray, taking a deep breath. There had never been a time in his life that Hancock had felt more helpless than he did in that moment. The last time he felt this useless he ended up staging a fucking coup. 

For a long time, he tried to pick out bits of the scenery that he had managed to see but there was nothing that was familiar. It had been some house in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing notable about it, as it looked like every other piece of shit house in the Commonwealth. It was a shame, really, because he was more than willing to march out into the wasteland and drag his soulmate back to Goodneighbor with him – and she could kick and scream and curse him the whole way if she wanted. He just wanted to make sure the woman was safe. 

…

The sound of shattering glass caused Hancock’s entire body to lurch forward into wakefulness. On instinct, he had his knife in his hand, ready to stab whoever thought that they could catch him off guard. It took only a moment for him to realize that there was no threat. The glass broke – it fell out of his hand. The ghoul slouched; when did he fall asleep?

There was a moment of calm as he rubbed at his eyes. He traded his knife for the pack of cigarettes and the lighter, but before he could light up he remembered… 

Ignoring the cigarettes, he put his focus on the bond, on the tether that connected him to his soulmate. His vision swam, the image of a curved needle and fishing line, and rubble filling his vision, superimposing itself over the familiar scenery of his office. The more he focused, the clearer the image of his woman’s shaking hands became. Pain pulsed in his shoulder, and he felt the woman’s unease as she lifted an ancient bottle of vodka into her hand. 

He smiled when she took a couple large gulps of the liquid, he could feel the phantom burn in his throat – and then she was dousing the wound with it. Hancock grit his teeth, fingers clenching. 

Chest heaving, she turned and peered at a small chunk of mirror. It had been carefully propped up against the rubble. It was maybe two hands wide, and maybe just as tall. She sat next to the mirror, her injured shoulder in plain view. He also caught the delicate expanse of her creamy throat, the lazy curl of fiery red hair. Hancock held his breath, watching. He wanted to instruct her on how to remove the bullet, and how she should go about stitching her arm closed but he kept quiet. Hancock didn’t want to spook her, and he thought that maybe if she thought that she was alone…

Maybe he would get to see her face. Maybe she would take a glance at her Pip-Boy and he would have an idea of where she was. Maybe, maybe. He could hope. 

_“Shit!”_ Came the strained whimper of her voice. 

Hancock had heard her voice a number of times, though it was never directed at him. It was naturally soft, and raspy – real sexy. On this occasion, though, her voice was pitched with pain as she carefully pried the bullet from her shoulder. 

Needles shot through the entirety of his arm, and for a moment Hancock thought that his fingers were about to go numb. The bullet was removed and he could hear it clatter against something that sounded like glass. More alcohol was poured over the wound – she muffled her screams. The needle came into view, and with shaking fingers the woman went about sewing the wound shut. It was sloppy, and the sutures were uneven but it got the job done. When she was finished, her vision – and his – wavered due to the tears that were cascading down her cheeks. She was sniffling as she put away her gear. Hancock’s heart ached, he wished he was there to help her. 

Instead, he resigned himself to watch as she poured brown water over her hands. She scrubbed at her hands, removing dried blood from under her nails and cuticles. After the vigorous hand scrubbing she chanced a look in the mirror. The poor woman’s face was dirty, smudged with blood and a bit of grime, with trails of tears highlighting the skin of her cheeks. Pained green eyes peered at him, framed with long lashes. Pouty lips were dried and chapped – she was suddenly pouring the dirty water over her face. Hancock could feel the sudden chill of the liquid as it covered her face and streamed down her neck and chest. A moment later, she was looking back into the mirror. She looked cleaner, having just washed her face. The pitiful sadness in her eyes changed into something steely and firm. 

“You’re beautiful,” Hancock rasped. 

The woman visibly faltered, suddenly looking into the mirror with uncertainty as she recoiled. 

“I mean it,” he insisted. “Yer a knockout. Look at you.” 

She said nothing, but she didn’t look away. Hancock took her in, wanting her to maybe stand up and take a step back so he could get a good look at her but he would take what he could get. She was allowing him to see her, letting him see her face and that was some damn good progress.

“What’s yer name?” 

No answer, of course. 

“Honey, you gotta give me _something_ to hold on to.” 

The hardness returned to her eyes revealing a stony-eyed hatred that actually hurt. She looked away from the mirror and went about packing up her supplies. Hancock felt his hands grip something – maybe his couch – in a moment of desperation. 

“Please,” he begged. “Please, just give me something…”

She gave him nothing.


	4. 092. Dust

092\. Dust

After the debacle in the middle of nowhere, Nora made her way back home. After leaving the vault, she had decided to bypass the visit to memory lane in hopes of diving head first into searching for Shaun. Returning was difficult. She got misty eyed as the first of the neighborhood came in to view. The buildings were mostly destroyed. What was once a lovely suburban neighborhood was now a bunch of old skeletal foundations lining the road way.

Nora followed the curve of the street, the tears falling free as she spotted her house. It was a wreck, but it wasn't completely destroyed. There was still a door, and a roof in some places. Maybe she could spruce it up a bit. All she had to do was find some tools and the proper materials. Her eyes swept to the neighboring houses, narrowing when a feeling of residual pre-apocalypse ire washed over her. 

Nora knew whose house she was looting from first. 

It was as petty - she knew it was - but all of the arguments she had had with Mrs. Waverly Brown were still somewhat fresh in Nora's mind. All of those times the little brat would call the homeowners association because the lawn wasn't properly manicured. Every time that she would make a dig at Nora for being an irresponsible mother because she wanted to return to work after having Shaun. Oh, yes. Nora would loot her home with morbid delight. 

That would come later, though. First, she had to get inside her own home and survey the damage. 

Before she knew it, Nora was standing at the front door, her hand on the knob. She was breathing hard, her lip trembling. What would she see when she went inside? Slowly, she began to turn the handle-

"Miss Nora?"

Jolting away from the door, Nora reached for her gun. Had she taken just a second to think, Nora would have realized that whoever it was that snuck up on her somehow knew her name - but she didn't stop to think. The gun was drawn and lifted as she pivoted on her heel.

She blanched, "Codsworth?"

"Miss Nora!" The Mister Handy's body swiveled, the movement punctuating the exuberance in his voice. He drifted closer. "Miss, you are finally home! You are... two centuries late for dinner! Perhaps I could whip something up for you. Maybe a snack? You must be famished!"

Two centuries, he said. That couldn't be right. 

"No, Codsworth, I'm fine," she said softly, reaching out and giving him a gentle push back so she could maintain her personal space. "You said," she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Two centuries?"

"Oh, yes, mum! I've been waiting here patiently for yours and sir's return!" Another swivel of his limbs and then the robot turned. "Where is sir? And master Shaun?" 

More tears. She bit down on the inside of her lip. Crying was, apparently, all she was good for these days. Nora didn't answer the question, saying it out loud would make it feel real. At the moment she was content with the idea that this was all a horrific nightmare. She turned suddenly, entering the house in an effort to avoid anymore of Codsworth's questions. 

The door creaked open. The sound was eerie, and it gave her goosebumps. Her home was in a sorry state but it was cleaner than she had anticipated. Though mostly destroyed, the furniture that could stand to function was right where she left it. Picture frames were placed on the shelves, though the images they once housed were worn and faded. There was a fine layer of dust on just about everything, but it wasn't much - and that was surprising, considering the sorry state everything was in.

"Ah, my apologies, mum. I have yet to do my chores today."

Nora glanced over her shoulder, not at all surprised that the Mister Handy was right behind her. She shifted aside so Codsworth could enter the house then made it a point to close the door once he was inside.

"It's fine, Codsworth-"

"You will have to forgive me, Miss. I have tried to clean this place up a bit, but-"

"Codsworth-"

"But nothing gets nuclear fallout out of vinyl wood! Nothing!" The machine lamented, and she felt a ghost of a smile tug at her lips - the first smile that she had exhibited since leaving the vault.

Nora listened as Codsworth assured her that he would get to cleaning immediately, that he would try scrubbing at the floors once again, and Nora left him to it. She made her way through her ruined home. The bedroom was the first stop; it was mostly destroyed. The wall was almost blown out, the ceiling was mostly missing. The bed was completely destroyed. So were their wedding photos. Nora retreated, only to go straight to Shaun's room.

This room looked as though it was the cleanest room in the house. Things had been broken down, and other things were very obviously missing but it was her son's room. The walls and ceiling were still intact, and she could pick out the remnants of the rug they had rolled out over the floor. Before she could stop herself, Nora dropped into one of the corners of the room. She gazed at the broken remains of her son's crib.

It had taken Nate three hours to put that damn crib together. Nora had watched him with a sadistic sort of glee. He had balled up the instructions and had thrown them in the trash before assembly, assuring her that he knew how to put together a simple crib. Nora didn't tell him that she swiped the instructions from the trash. She didn't say that she had the instructions tucked in her back pocket, even when he tried to discretely return to the trash and pick them out. Nate managed without the instructions, but he did it with a great deal of swearing. He looked completely scandalized when Nora revealed that she had the instructions the whole time. 

Nora suddenly choked, leaning in and pressing her watery eyes to her knees. 

"Why couldn't he have killed me, too?" She whimpered. "Why did he let me live? I can't do this without you. Why couldn't he have killed me instead?"

There was a moment where she waited for the deep voice of her husband. Part of her desperately hoped that he would respond, that he would tell her that he was out of the vault and on his way to help.

_"Oh, honey..."_

The voice didn't belong to her husband. It wasn't that deep baritone of a voice that she loved so much. It was the stranger, with his rasping, graveled, but gentle tenor. In the midst of her sadness she had reached out through the bond. She had been searching for Nate, but someone else was in his place. Equal parts mortified and infuriated, Nora withdrew from their connection with enough force that it left her head pounding. Fresh tears emerged as she allowed herself to wallow in all of her hatred, grief, and self-pity.


	5. 057. Haze

057\. Haze

Drugs had been a constant in Hancock's life for many years. The illicit substances were his favorite crutch, and he enjoyed mixing them up into a high powered cocktail that would knock any smoothskin on their ass for a couple of days at a time. As a ghoul he needed the strong stuff anyway, but as John _fucking_ Hancock he needed something even stronger, something so much more potent. Being John _fucking_ Hancock in the middle of an emotionally compromised time in his life, he decided to get creative. Hancock applied his spare time to experimenting with chems set. There were a few tried and true recipes that had been his go-to's for a long time, but now he needed something stronger. He wanted to get obliterated. 

Though he absolutely hated to admit it, his soulmate's blatant rejection had been more than a little devastating. He could only imagine how much worse things would get once she found out he was a ghoul. 

It was funny. Hancock had always been comfortable as he was; smoothskin, ghoul - it didn't matter. At the end of the day, John knew who he was, and in his heart of hearts John knew that he was a decent man. Maybe not a good man, but he was decent. His moral compass was a little skewed, sure, but he wasn't a fucking monster. And that's all that mattered. Or it had been. After being so forcefully rejected by his soulmate, Hancock suddenly felt uncertain. He felt insecure. 

What part of him wasn't good enough?

The woman had just lost her husband; he understood that. Hancock could only imagine the pain she was enduring, but she insisted on fighting it alone - and that baffled him. Why would someone want to brave this mess of a world alone? Especially since she had been cooped up in that vault for however long. She was obviously inexperienced, and she wasn't great at defending herself, with or without a gun. Despite it all, she ignored him every time he offered to help. 

Fine, he thought. Fuck it, then. 

He could ignore her, too. That was what he told himself, at least. 

It seemed as though every bit of idle time he had was devoted to thinking of the stubborn woman. Even when he busied himself, he found his thoughts deviating from the task at hand. The drugs helped a little, but not much. They weren't strong enough, they didn't last long enough. So he decided to be a mad scientist for a couple of days. He played with different elements, mixing basic jet and psycho with a variety of different additives.

He was successful, and for a couple of days he was higher than a fucking kite. It wasn't constant though. He would start to crash, and he would take another hit. Taking larger doses would fix the problem, but every time he would prepare himself to up the ante he would hesitate. Because what if, in his drug-induced stupor, his better half needed him? What if she needed help and he was too blitzed to do anything outside of giggle at the disembodied voice? Instead stumbling into the what-if scenario every time he came down from his high, Hancock only wanted to be obligated to make this decision once. Just once, and then he didn't have to worry about it for the rest of the day. 

The dilemma was making something strong enough that wouldn't end up killing him. He wasn't ready for that quite yet, though. It would take a little time, but Hancock was persistent. For the time being, he would take a few hits of this and that every few hours. 

It was approaching mid-afternoon when Hancock found himself on the down-swing of one of his highs. He felt sluggish and heavy, and his mouth was dry. The inhaler was clasped between his teeth as he unscrewed the cap from a bottle of vodka - and that's when he heard it. 

Soft sobbing, a sniffle. 

_"Why couldn't he have killed me, too? Why did he let me live? I can't do this without you. Why couldn't he have killed me instead?"_

Hancock sobered almost immediately. The inhaler dropped from his mouth as he listened to the poor woman cry. Part of him wanted to be a snarky asshole; _wrong number, sweetheart. Nate ain't here._ The other part of him was wholly sympathetic. She was miserable, and she was heartbroken, and she was hurting, and Hancock wanted to make all of that go away. 

His body sank into the couch as he rubbed at his eyes, "Oh, honey..."

There was a gasp, soft but piercing. The woman withdrew from their bond faster than a striking snake. He flinched, physically recoiling into the couch as his eyes shot open. "No," he told the room, rising to his feet in a surprisingly fluid movement. "Not this time."

Hancock reached out for her, recreating the severed connection with ease. All he was was darkness, but he could hear her crying. She was hyperventilating, and her body was shaking. It took a conscious effort to keep his own breathing steady. He hadn't prepared for the tidal wave of emotions that crashed over him.

"Hey."

Another gut-wrenching sob. 

"Hey, look, I... I..." There were tears in his eyes as his soulmate's emotions overtook him. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did..." a sniffle, he dragged the arm of the coat across his cheeks. 

_"Mum? Mum, are you alright?"_ the voice was muffled and surprisingly British. The woman opened her eyes and Hancock finally had the opportunity to see where she was. A bedroom of some kind. _"I am sure that Sir and Shaun will be home soon..."_

More anguish, more heartbreak, more fucking tears. 

_"Just - both of you! GO AWAY!"_

Hancock swallowed around the lump in his throat, and he sniffled yet again as he tried to regain control of his emotions. Before he broke the connection, he whispered, "I'll be here if ya need me." 

He dove back into the drugs, and let himself drift off into oblivion for the rest of the evening.


	6. 094. Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will move away from angsty Nora eventually.

094\. Shadows

Nora cried herself into a fitful sleep on the floor of her son’s bedroom. When she woke up her body ached, her eyelids felt heavy and her cheeks felt puffy. She was thirsty, and hungry, and she had to go to the bathroom. Leaving her things tucked safely in Shaun’s nursery, Nora ventured from the bedroom to find that it was quite dark. The Pip-Boy on her wrist gave off enough light that she felt comfortable venturing out of the house. There was no sight of Codsworth, and Nora immediately felt guilty. The Mister Handy unit had remained vigilant, and stayed with the house after two whole centuries. Robot or not, she figured that she should have treated him better. 

She went around back to take care of business, not wanting to use the broken toilet and stink up the place. On her way back inside, she slowed enough to glance around her back yard. Like everything else, it was decimated. Despite the destruction, she was pretty sure that she could make out the spot where the dog house had been. A small, rueful smile surfaced. Nora stepped out for just a couple of hours, and Nate let the damn dog jump the fence and run off. Hopefully ol’ Rosco had a nice adventure before everything went to Hell. Slowly, taking a very carefree stride, Nora lingered out of the yard and around the house. It had been less than a week since she stepped out of the Vault, and Nora already had a very firm no-going-out-at-night rule, but as she wandered to the road outside of her house the familiarity hit her so hard that she couldn’t bring herself to worry about the potential danger. 

Nate and Nora had lived in their suburban neighborhood for nearly three years. It was a lovely place, and most of the populace was quite friendly. Nora knew everyone on the block by name. She knew their kids, and their kids knew her. In the short time they had spent in the area, Nate and Nora Morrison’s home had been the go-to house on Halloween. Nate made it a point to hide in the yard to scare unsuspecting trick-or-treaters – and when they did start suspecting, he upped his game substantially. Meanwhile, Nora would be passing out the big-sized candies with Codsworth making special guest appearances. Nate had been so excited for Halloween this year… _that_ year. 

Standing in the middle of the street, Nora looked down the length of road as it curled around the block. During the 4th of July the entire road was packed. The neighborhood got together and held a potluck. The smell of burgers, hot dogs, and barbeque mixed with the smell of fireworks. On Christmas it would be lit up with tasteful lighting arrangements, and the kids would sing carols. The little neighborhood had been so lively, so friendly and inviting. Now it was a corpse; a skeleton. There was no life here. This place was nothing but a shadow of what it once was, and Nora hated it. She hated this place – this Commonwealth. It was decrepit and it was ruthless, and she truly had no clue how she was going to survive. Food and water seemed to be scarce, and she had yet to come across another human that didn’t want to shoot her on sight. 

“Are you feeling any better, Mum?”

Nora visibly flinched, her head cranking towards Codsworth’s voice so fast that it hurt. She silently cursed herself for not bringing her gun with her. 

“Hi, Codsworth,” she murmured as the Mister Handy unit drifted to her side. “I’m sorry for yelling earlier.”

“It’s quite alright, Mum. I recognized your more common signs of stress before you went into Master Shaun’s room.” The AI’s voice was strangely placating. 

At the mention of her son’s name, Nora dropped her gaze to her feet. Shaun. Her little boy was the reason why she would fight; she would fight and she would survive. Somehow. She would do it for him, and she would do it for Nate.

“Miss Nora? May I suggest taking a moment to have a bite to eat? You haven’t eaten a thing since you’ve been home.”

Nora shook her head, curving her arm around her empty stomach. “I don’t have any food, Codsworth. I’ve tried finding some, but-“

Codsworth’s voice lifted back to its friendly exuberance, “Mum, I asked if you wanted me to make you something once you had returned home! Come inside, I will fix you something immediately.” 

She followed Codsworth back inside, and decided to pretend that it was just another night at the house. Nate was working late, Shaun was down for the night, and as she feasted on ancient snack cakes and warmed up beans, Nora desperately tried to pretend that the pictures on the shelves depicted more than the fading shadows of the loved ones that she had lost.


	7. 005. Transparent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will stop beating up Hancock eventually.

05\. Transparent

It was real difficult getting off of the couch next morning. There was a pounding ache just behind his eyes, his stomach felt like it would turn at any second, and he was terribly thirsty. Reaching out of the coffee table, Hancock blindly groped at the air until he managed to wrap his fingers around the neck of a glass bottle. He took a quick swig, and immediately gagged. Opening his eyes, he growled out a swear when he spotted a number of crushed cigarette butts and dark ash floating in the remaining liquid. With a snarl, he chucked the bottle across the room. The glass shattered and he ground out another curse. Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. 

Purely out of habit, Hancock started to pat himself down for cigarettes – only to stop mid-search. He didn’t need a cigarette. He needed to find some water and brush his fucking teeth. The acrid zing of the ashy alcohol was still burning his mouth, and he decided that if he could go back in time and give drunk/stoned Hancock a lecture then he so fucking would. 

Hancock brushed his teeth with a thick mixture of baking soda and water. The paste worked it’s magic on the grittiness in his mouth, but it didn’t do much to get rid of the terrible taste of the ashy vodka. Dragging his hat closer to his eyes, Hancock shuffled out of his office. The sound of crunching glass punctuating his exit – he would have to clean that up later. 

“Mayor,” One of his ghoulish guards greeted as he made his way down stairs. He looked sharp, like most of his guards; all suited it up and armed.  
Hancock squinted at the guard, trying to cast out the remaining fog in his mind. Instead of greeting him by name, he merely grunted, “Fahrenheit?”

“She went out t’take care of some super mutants, Mayor.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Super mutants,” he rasped. Fahrenheit would typically come and talk to him about that sort of thing. He didn’t remember even seeing her the entire day before. 

“Yeah. She took Finn and a couple’a others to go take ‘em out.”

“When’d they leave?”

“Few hours ago? Maybe four ‘r five?”

Hancock nodded, and immediately regretted the motion as it reminded him of his headache. He clapped the guard on the shoulder all the same, “Thanks, brother.”

“No problem, Mayor.”

It was a whole lot brighter outside than he anticipated. Instead of the mid-morning sunlight he was expecting, it was very obviously past noon. Hancock grimaced, thinking that maybe he should just turn around and go back upstairs.

“Well,” came a gentle drawling voice. “Don’t you look bright eyed and bushy tailed.” Hancock squinted through the light to catch Daisy smirking at him. She was a few paces outside of her store, a broom in her hand and a knowing look in her eye. Retreating was no longer an option, so John shuffled down the stoop and made his approach. The closer he got, the wider Daisy’s smile grew. She was beaming. Her smile was brighter than the damn sun. “So, rumor has it that someone in Goodneighbor found their special someone.”

Hancock huffed a sigh, sliding his hands into his pockets. Of course Fahrenheit would tell Daisy. Daisy was easy to talk to, and she was every bit of a mother figure to a lot of the wayward souls that stumbled into Goodneighbor – Fahrenheit and Hancock included. 

“I dunno who that could possibly be,” Hancock growled out almost petulantly. 

“John,” Daisy said sternly, raising her eyebrows. 

The Mayor slouched, wanting to disappear into his coat. “She don't want me.”

That beaming smile dropped completely. “What makes you say that?”

“I’ve had this connection with her for nearly a week. The only thing she’s said to me is ‘go away’,” he deadpanned. “The only times that she has reached out to me was when she was looking for her dead husband. So…” Another sigh. The ashy taste in his mouth was finally gone; things were starting to look up. 

Daisy looked very visibly pained, tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh, poor thing.” Finally! A bit of fucking sympathy! Fahrenheit had listened to only so much of his complaining, and she was completely unwilling to show him any sympathy for his plight. Daisy, meanwhile, looked teary and wildly distraught. It lasted for all of a second before she snapped, “Not you.”

What the fuck. 

“Think about it, John. You’re a smart boy,” the pre-war ghoul urged. 

Hancock stared her down for a few moments. The light was hurting his head, and Daisy’s withering glare was making him feel even shittier. 

“Those drugs are rotting your mind, John Hancock!” Daisy scolded, hitting his shin with the end of the broom. There wasn’t a whole lot of force behind the attack, but it still caught him off guard, and he flinched away. “Her soulmate died!”

John so badly wanted to be irritated, but he couldn’t muster the energy – not as the pieces of the puzzle started to click into place. His soulmate’s soulmate died. 

“You can be real damn transparent sometimes, John. You really didn’t know?”

His soulmate’s _soulmate_. He was a replacement. 

There were stories of people who had more than one soulmate, but John thought that they were just that – stories! This explained everything: her blatant ire, her resistance, her rejection. Her soulmate was torn away from her, and Hancock had been shoved in the man’s place. He had been so upset about her rejection, and so eager to make himself feel better that he had never stopped and really thought things through. Slowly, Hancock turned and walked the short distance back to the State House. 

_No, really. Fuck you, Universe._


	8. 021. Get Up

021\. Get Up

Sleep came easy with a full stomach. The combination of snack cakes and beans hadn't been the best in the world, but it worked wonders. When she woke up the next morning she was feeling like herself again. There was still a heavy ache in her chest, and she was still feeling quite emotional, but she wasn’t feeling so weak and shaky. She felt like she could take a breath and actually think clearly. While she still had her wits about her, Nora took the moment to sift through her Pip-Boy and make a quick list. Jotting down a list always helped Nora get her thoughts in order. The lists would vary from the smallest of tasks to the biggest of hurdles. It was never in any particular order, it was very stream-of-thought. That was all she needed, though. She just needed to see it, and as she completed her tasks, she would check them off. Sometimes it was nice to see a visual reminder that she accomplished something, no matter how small the accomplishment was. This occasion was no different. 

Find/Eat breakfast

Brush teeth

Wash face

Check neighbor’s houses

Find Shaun

Codsworth was more than happy to supply her with a quick breakfast. It was a can of pears in a sweet syrup that held up surprisingly well over the years. Even though she appreciated the meal, Nora acknowledged that she was going to need to find some sort of vegetables, and a stable source of protein. And water. She was going to need some clean water if that was at all possible.

~~Find/Eat breakfast~~

Brush teeth

Wash face

Wash clothes

Check neighbor’s houses

Find Shaun

Find Veggies/Meat

Find Clean Water

Nora scrubbed the grit from her teeth with the neck of her undershirt, then she went about washing her things in the small stream that was just outside of the neighborhood. Thankfully, she didn’t have to stand around in the nude as Codsworth was able to dry things up in a jiffy - and he did so without any comment about her state of undress. The Mister Handy unit even went so far as to check her poorly stitched injury. There had to be more medical supplies around here somewhere – and she would have to find more clothes; a single pair of underwear was only going to last so long, and it would be nice to have something other than the vault suit which was already blood stained and torn. Armor would be nice, too. Some of the people she had stumbled across looked to be wearing some sort of improvised armor. She could make something – hopefully. Maybe.

~~Find/Eat breakfast~~

~~Brush teeth~~

~~Wash face~~

~~Wash clothes~~

Check neighbor’s houses

Find Shaun

Find Veggies/Meat

Find Clean Water

Clothes/armor

Medical Supplies

The rest of the morning was spent digging through the neighboring houses. It looked like everything of value had already been taken or destroyed. There was nothing but junk left behind. Junk that involved a heaping bag of bottle caps, and used syringes. It wasn’t the syringes that surprised her, oddly enough. It was the bottle caps. There was a bag stuffed full with them, and all of them belonged to some flavor of Nuka-Cola. Everyone needed a hobby, she supposed. Ultimately, she returned home empty handed save for a pair of old slacks and a sun dress. 

The frown on Nora’s face seemed permanent as she settled on the floor in the living room of her house. She had lost her momentum, and now she wasn’t sure how she should go about checking off the remains of her list. Finding Shaun was paramount compared to all else, but she wouldn’t be able to find herself if she didn’t keep herself fit and healthy. Codsworth had suggested going to Concord a handful of times, insisting that the people there had only shot at him a few times. She wasn’t ready for that sort of thing. She needed to practice her shooting and, to do that, she needed more ammo. Nate would have been better suited at this sort of thing. Nate was a survivor, a fighter. What use was a lawyer these days?

“What would you do?” She whispered to the room. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I… I need your help.” 

The sound of a clearing throat called her attention to the kitchen, where Codsworth lingered. He had spent the morning trying to scrub at the floors, in order to prove to Nora that there was just no way to effectively clean them. “Ah, mum? I found this holotape. I do believe that Sir was going to present it to you—“ 

Even Nora was surprised by her own speed. She shot to her feet and practically lunged across the counter to grab at the procured holotape. The movement was so sudden that poor Codsworth squawked his surprise. With the holotape in hand, Nora crumpled to the ground in a heap, her shaking fingers making it difficult to insert the tape into the Pip-Boy. There was a loud ringing sound, and then a deep chuckle as Shaun blabbered into the microphone. Those sounds alone pulled fresh tears from her eyes. She closed her eyes and listened to her boys, hugging the Pip-Boy to her chest. 

“Oops,” Another deep laugh, more baby talk. “No, no. Little fingers away. There we go.” There was a moment where Nate spoke to Shaun, his voice pitching into a higher octave, but even then it was low and bassy. Nora remembered the first time she had heard that voice – she remembered like it was yesterday. “I don’t think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a mother you are… but we’re going to anyway.” She listened to his voice, equal parts soothed and heartbroken. When she was finished with the tape, she rewound the tape and played it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

“… civilian workforce. You’ll shake the dust off of your law degree… But everything we do, no matter how hard… we do it for our family.” 

Everything we do, no matter how hard – we do it for our family. 

_For my family._

It didn’t take long for Nora to get her things together, as she didn’t have much. She didn’t take the time to rethink her actions, she didn’t mull over how difficult the road ahead would be. With her resolve firmly in place, Nora set out for Concord. 

~~Find/Eat breakfast~~

~~Brush teeth~~

~~Wash face~~

~~Wash clothes~~

~~Check neighbor’s houses~~

Find Shaun

Find Veggies/Meat

Find Clean Water

Look for (better) Clothes/armor

Medical Supplies

~~GET UP~~

Go to Concord


	9. 082. Panic

After coming down from the worst of his hangover, Hancock took a little time to clean up his office. Even though cleaning was quite possibly one of his least favorite past times, it was an idle chore that gave him some time to think while also keeping himself clear headed. He swept the entirety of the office, and was equal parts disgusted and impressed with the mess the ancient broom gathered. The entire room could do with a good run-through with a mop, but the motivation for that particular task wasn’t quite there. Old inhalers and syringes were tossed, empty pill bottles were set aside for later use. The ashtrays were empties, and old liquor bottles sent down to the Third Rail for cleaning and eventual reuse. It was all menial work, but Hancock felt rather accomplished once he was finished. To punctuate the end of his cleaning spree, he opened one of the windows in the office to blow the stink out. 

He celebrated with a cigarette, and a bottle of water. Dragging his desk chair to the window, Hancock plopped down with a heavy sigh. Kicking his feet up onto the windowsill, he enjoyed the occasional breeze as he finished his smoke and sipped at his water.

While he cleaned, Hancock mulled over a number of things. He thought about the town; how he would have to get some of the building projects moving so folks would have a place to stay. The gate around Goodneighbor would have to be reinforced soon, and it would be a decent opportunity to give a few people a job so they could earn some caps. His thoughts flit from one thing to another, only to inevitably return to _her_.

Hancock felt like an asshole, but he couldn’t help but think that all of it could have been avoided had she just said something – anything. He would have understood. Though soulmates typically ended up together, there was absolutely nothing saying that they couldn’t be just friends. The woman seemed unwilling to even give that a chance, though. Either way, he supposed that he owed her an apology. Outside of the instance that he got yelled at, Hancock had nearly left her alone for two full days so he saw no problem with trying again. 

After stomping out the cigarette in the now empty ash tray, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He prepared to get yelled at again, he prepared himself for the wave of sadness and bitter anguish. Another deep, steadying breath and he reached out for the bond that connected his soul to hers. The sounds of her breathing washed over him, heavy and labored. His breath matched hers, his hands beginning to shake and his dark eyes darting around the room in a panic. If anyone was to walk in on the Mayor of Goodneighbor in that moment, they would think that he was having some sort of fit. As his eyes went wide and shot from place to place, he wasn’t seeing any part of his office. He was completely immersed in whatever the woman was experiencing. In the midst of it all, as his thoughts went absolutely rampant, he hoped that he would get this shit in control soon. 

The image settled on a small box of ammo, trembling hands trying to reload a magazine. There was active gunfire, he could hear the bullets slam into whatever structure the woman was using as cover. The panic overcame him, and Hancock found himself yelling. 

“Are you trying to get yerself fucking killed, lady!?”

The woman yelped her surprise, a bullet springing from her fingers and clattering to the rubble around her. There was a sound of creaking wood, and fast footfalls and the woman scrambled to get the magazine back into the gun. It snapped into place, but her fingers couldn’t grasp the slide to rack it properly. Without a bullet in the chamber, the gun was fucking useless. Pain erupted in his scalp, and he knew in that moment that the woman’s hair was yanked with a magnificent amount of force. The face of a man swam into view, rotten teeth and wild eyes. Blood was smeared around his eyes like war paint. The breath was knocked out of Hancock as his woman received a punch to the gut. 

He coughed and gasped, “Shoot him! Shoot him in the fucking head!”

Another punch and a pitifully breathless scream – and then he got a first person view of the woman rearing her head back and slamming her forehead into the man’s nose. As the man yowled and stumbled back, the woman shrieked and lifted the gun. Adrenaline gave her the capability to rack the slide on the gun, and then she took aim. The first shot missed. So did the second. The third shot went right into the man’s neck. She sank to her knees, gasping and trembling like a leaf in the wind as the man proceeded to gasp and choke on his own blood. Hancock watched, and as he listened he heard more yelling from her end of the connection, laughter and taunting. 

“Hey,” he rasped, taking a deep breath and taking back control of his rampant emotions. “Search his body.”

She didn’t move. 

“If you just keep sittin’ there, yer gonna die, do you hear me? Is that what you fuckin’ want?”

No response, but his vision shifted to look at the body. 

“Check his body,” he urged again. 

The woman crawled forward and he watched as her small hands patted the man down. She took a slow, deep breath, sniffling. _“He’s-he’s got a knife,”_ she whispered, pulling the weapon free. It was a small fold-up knife, rusted beyond belief but it could be of use. _“And he had a, um…”_ she took a slow breath, trying to calm herself but it didn’t seem like it worked. _“I think he had a pipe or…Immgonna be sick.”_

Hancock scoffed. He wasn’t sure when he had gotten to his feet, but he had taken to aggressively pacing the length of the room. 

“You ain’t got the time for that,” he growled. “You got yerself into a goddamn mess. Unless you see a way to run out of this one, you need to ready yourself for a fight, you hear me?”

She dry heaved. 

“He’s got nothin’ else? Absolutely nothing?”

Even as her stomach lurched, the woman patted down the man’s pocket’s again. _”Bottlecaps.”_

“You can come back for those later. Now, okay… Listen.”

A bullet whizzed by and she shrieked, dropping flat to the ground near the man’s corpse. 

“Listen!” He yelled, hoping to grab her attention over the sound of gunfire. “I can help you, but yer gonna hafta trust me!”

 _”St-stop yelling at me.”_ It was a weak response, but even then it still tugged the briefest of smiles onto Hancock’s otherwise worried features. She still had a little bit of a fight in her. 

“Trust me,” he urged. “And do everything I say.”

Another heaving gag, and then a weak response, _”Okay.”_


	10. 084. Killing

084\. Killing

Nora Morrison was a woman who firmly believed in law and order. She believed in the justice system. She believed that those who infringed upon the law must be judged by a group of their peers, and given a just sentence. There was no room for law in the Commonwealth. These people were murderers who showed absolutely no hesitation behind their actions, and they showed no fear of any potential consequences. These people were wild, and they were crazy, and for some reason they really seemed to want Nora dead. During her stint as a prosecuting attorney, Nora had been on the receiving end of a whole lot of ire – but this was something else entirely. 

Despite the hatred she wanted to harbor for her new soulmate, Nora found herself awfully thankful for him barging into her head when he did. She reached out to him through their bond, and once the connection was made she heard the man gasp softly. 

There was a brief moment where Nora’s vision was clouded with the man’s view of whatever room he was in – there was a chair, sitting in front of an open window, a couch tucked off to the side of a room – before she pushed the image from her mind and focused on his emotions. There was a feeling of absolutely panic, with an underlying layer of anger. He would have to work on controlling his own emotions when accessing their bond; he was letting her feelings influence his to a noticeable degree. She took a slow breath, catching the smell of phantom cigarette smoke and something tangy-sweet. Another breath and she was picking up the smell of dust, and coppery blood, and rotting wood. It took her a handful of precious seconds to make the connection to his mind, and then sift through all of the accompanying sensations until she was left with what she wanted. It was his emotions that she wanted, and even though she was seeking out some sort of level-headed calm, she could work with his anger – she could feed off of it. 

Without being told, Nora scrambled back to her source of cover, back to her box of bullets. 

_“Reload,”_ came the terse command, the man’s rasping voice dropping an octave into something dark and threatening. Nora released the magazine from the gun and did as she was told. _“Find some more mags t’pack around after this. Running into a firefight with just one was real stupid.”_

Nora scoffed, shoving in bullet after bullet until the magazine was full. “It’s not like I did it on purpose,” she growled. More gunfire punctuated the statement, more yelling followed.

 _“How many you got left?”_ Her eyes dipped down to her gun. _“Not bullets. I saw how many bullets you got. How many assholes are there tryin’ t’kill ya?”_

Nora chanced a quick peak, yelping as the edge of her cover was torn away by a bullet. It wasn’t really much cover, it was an old heavy wooden desk of some sort but it was doing a mighty fine job at keeping her safe at the moment. “Three?”

_“Was that a question or an answer?”_

Biting down on her tongue was the only way to prevent herself from swearing at him. Ultimately, she didn’t mind swearing – Nate had a military mouth – but she herself tried to avoid cursing. It wasn’t lady like, for one thing. And one of her most prevalent childhood memories featured biting down on a bar of soap because she had a “dirty mouth” was another reason entirely. 

“I counted three,” she said through gritted teeth. 

_“Yer gonna hafta kill ‘em,”_ he replied. _“And yer not gonna have the time to be gettin’ sick every time you do it, ya feel me?”_

The connection she established faltered when her eyes drifted to the corpse that rested not five feet away. She had killed a man. It wasn’t her first time seeing a dead body; she hadn’t shied away from crime scenes and morgue visits in her career. It was so much more different, knowing that she was the one that made the kill. She took someone’s life. Despite the situation, a surge of guilt had her eyes growing misty. 

_“Hey, sister, get yer head in the game!”_ Her eyes snapped to the side, the connection stabilizing. 

The man was irritated, she could feel it right along with his anger. She could use that, too. The only problem with utilizing those emotions was that she found herself snapping right back at him, “I told you to stop top yelling at me!”

_“Then focus!”_

“You focus!”

It had been bound to happen. The stranger was perceptive to her emotions, incapable of blocking them from affecting his own. It was just the night before when he had barged into her headspace, only for his irritation to be broken down under an assault of her own grief. With both of them reaching for the other, and with the man incapable – or unwilling – to block out her emotions, they were creating a feedback loop of sorts. His anger affected her, affected him, affected her… 

Even though Nora was aware of it happening, having a white-hot rage burning in her chest was leagues better than the raw guilt that was roiling in her gut. 

The stranger growled. It was a deep, rumbling sound that carried more gravel than his voice did. It sounded like an animal. _“Shoot at them. Stay below cover.”_

She did. Remaining tucked low behind cover, she fired in her assailant’s direction blindly. There was a surprised yelp from their end of the fight this time, and then resounding laughter. She fired again, and the laughing fell silent. 

_“Find where they are.”_

His words were clipped, and precise, and they left very little room for argument. Rising just high enough to use the edge of the desk to support her arms when she took aim. Her blind-firing had sent them behind cover, and for just a moment she had the upper hand. She spotted the first of the men, simply crouching down low out in the open with a surprised look on his face. She took aim. 

_“Shoot him.”_

Nora pulled the trigger. The gun jumped in her hand, and she ended up shooting too wide. 

_“Bend yer knees, lean into the shot. Pull the trigger and fuckin’ MEAN IT! This is your life or theirs! Kill them!”_

She did. 

She killed all three.


	11. 035. Punch

035\. Punch

_“You’re lying. In what world would bottle caps be a viable currency?”_

Hancock snorted into his water, grinning like a fool as he watched the woman stare at a handful of blood-spattered bottle caps. This was all he had wanted from the very beginning – conversation. He wanted to get to know his soulmate, so he delighted himself with their small talk. 

“In this world,” he replied. “Why else would every one of these bastards have bottle caps on ‘em?”

_“I don’t know – maybe it’s a hobby. Like collecting stamps.”_

“Stamps? People collect those things?”

She deposited the bottle caps into her bag without a whole lot of care as she grumbled, _“Not anymore, apparently.”_

After they stopped bitching at each other, Hancock found himself enjoying walking his soulmate through her first firefight. The woman was a good listener; whenever he told her to adjust her grip or her footing, she did it. When he told her to make a run for better cover, she bolted. At the end of the fire fight, Hancock told her to take a moment to breathe. She crumbled to the ground for a few moments, taking deep breaths through her nose and exhaling heavily through her mouth. The anger that had been crackling between them finally dissipated. 

“Y’did good,” he had said. “Really. Yer a helluva shot.” There hadn't been a response, only more deep breathing. He frowned slowly; so it was back to this. There was a moment where he thought about severing the connection and just leaving her to it, but he had reached out to her for a reason. He still hadn’t apologized, and she still needed help. “Hey. Don’t forget to check their bodies.” 

So she did. Remaining calm, and taking slow breaths, the woman methodically searched the bodies of the fallen raiders. Ammo, guns, drugs and caps littered the floor around her within seconds. Hancock told her which ammo was compatible with gun she was toting, and walked he through the steps of reloading an old sawed off shotgun. 

_“What’s up with these guys and bottle caps?”_ she had said, mostly to herself than to him. 

Before he knew it, he was explaining the currency of the post-apocalyptic world. He silently marveled over the fact that this wasn’t common knowledge before reminding himself that this woman probably crawled out of a vault just recently. Maybe they still used that paper currency in there. 

As the woman packed everything into her pack he took a seat at the chair that was still perched near the window. “Ya know,” he drawled. “Yer handling all this real well. Y’haven’t got sick yet, anyway.”

_“That’s, uh… That’s all you, actually,”_ she said as she double-checked the magazine. She had a spare mag now, a shotgun, and he had caught a glimpse of a laser musket. 

Hancock scrunched his brows as he shook out a cigarette from the pack. “It’s comin’ from you, though.”

_“It’s coming from you. You don’t know how to block out my emotions, and I’m currently channeling yours, so. That’s all you.”_

Hancock put his feet up in the sill, taking a deep pull from the cigarette. “So when I started feelin’ super pissy…”

_“That was you, too. You were angry, and that was better than being scared out of my mind. I used your anger, and you picked up on it coming from me…”_

So the only reason why she was talking with him was because she was leeching off of his emotions. Some part of that realization hurt, but he was also more than pleased that he had established that he could help her. He would make himself useful, and he would get to know her that way. 

“My inexperience paid off. That’s a first,” he said with a wry smile. She didn’t take the bait. “Hey, so whaddarya doin’ in this place anyway? You obviously ain’t makin’ friends.”

There was a long, heavy exhale and then she started making her way further into the building, up a rickety flight of stairs. _“Guy on the balcony said that there were settlers inside.”_

Hancock scoffed, “Sounds like a fuckin’ trap t’me, sister.”

The woman didn’t reply. She kept making her way deeper and deeper into the building. She didn't need help taking out her attackers; she knew how to grip the gun, how to stand and aim. Now that she knew her shit, she just needed his help to keep a level head. He stayed with her until Fahrenheit came barging into his office. The woman looked murderous. He quietly slipped away from his soulmate, closing off his part of the connection. He could still feel her, though, using what she could from him.

“Well, heya stranger.” 

Fahrenheit didn’t look at all amused. Fahr suffered from resting bitch-face anyway, but after a brief once-over, Hancock was able to tell that she was pissed. More pissed than usual, anyway. “You kids have fun killin’ muteys?”

“Finn is gonna be a real fuckin’ problem.”

Hancock blinked his surprise, then took another drag of his cigarette. Fahrenheit was reaching for her own pack of cigarettes. When Hancock flipped open his lighter she leaned in close and lit up. “Aw, Fahr, ya didn't like yer playdate?”

“I’m serious, Hancock!” A heavy plume of smoke rolled past her lips with each word. 

There went his good mood. John dropped his lighter back in his pocket, and gestured for the angry woman to take a seat. She did, and then she launched into the events that took place that day. It didn't take long for Fahrenheit to supply him with all of the juicy details. It would seem that one of his better fighters didn’t really favor how Goodneighbor was being ran – and he wasn’t really keeping those opinions secret. He wanted Fahrenheit’s help taking over, he thought he would be able to win her over – but him and Fahrenheit went way back. He paid her, sure, but he paid all of his employees. Fahrenheit’s loyalty was deeper than her pockets, but Finn didn’t have to know that. 

“Asshole was so fucking cocky,” Fahrenheit seethed. “’You and me can run this place’ – fuckin’ dickhead.” 

“Yeah, but what didja say to him?”

“Nothing,” she growled, pinching off the end of her third cigarette with her index finger and thumb. 

“Nothing?”

“I don’t talk to idiots.”

He chuckled, rising to his feet. There was a filing cabinet tucked against his work desk. He pulled a bottle of ancient whiskey from one of the drawers and unscrewed the cap. There was some potential for a damn good plan here. He could let Finn keep running his mouth and turn the blind eye. If Finn accumulated any followers, he could get them all taken care of in one fell swoop. After taking a swig from the bottle, he passed it to Fahrenheit, who guzzled down a couple fingers worth of the alcohol. She held the bottle out towards him.

“So what if we—“

_“-ELP! HELP! Sh-SHIT!”_

As Hancock’s entire body jolted in surprise, he fumbled the bottle and it clattered to the ground. Alcohol spilled all over the floor, as Hancock gasped as if he had been stabbed. 

“Hancock?” Fahrenheit stood suddenly, her hand dropping to her pistol as she took a step back out of caution. Her response pained him, but he paid it no mind as he reached out towards his soulmate. Images overlapped until he focused on what she was seeing – and he damn near shit himself. 

While standing in his office, Hancock got a first person point of view of a deathclaw barreling towards his soulmate. He was completely and totally unable to hold back his yell of shock. His body lurched back, swinging over the arm of the couch. He flopped onto the ground like a sack of tatos. The weapon in the woman’s hands was heavy, the end was spinning but there were no bullets. 

“Holy shit,” he heaved. The deathclaw lunged, teeth and claws bared. “HOLY SHIT!” The minigun dropped to the ground with a deafening thud, and a heavily armored fist shot out, ramming into the deathclaw’s open maw. The idiot woman just punched a fucking deathclaw. “Where the fuck is your gun!?” He was yelling at the top of his lungs. He had never felt more horrified in his entire life. 

The door to his office slammed open, and several voices yelled out to him. Fahrenheit yelled back, telling them to lower their weapons and stand down. 

“WHERE IS YOUR GUN!?”

Another fist flew out, catching one of the deathclaws horns. It staggered back for only a second, and in that time his soulmate turned tail and ran. The armor she wore made it strange to run. It didn’t make it difficult, but she didn’t feel fast. She felt slow, clunky – but even then, she created enough space between her and the deadly creature. She tore around a dilapidated building, doubling back the way she came with the creature hot at her heels.

_“It won’t die! I ran out of ammo! How do I KILL IT!?”_

“WITH MORE AMMO!”

There was a mess of bodies strewn about the front of the old building, all freshly killed. She continued to charge forward, only to skid to a complete stop right in front of the bodies. She dropped to her knees and started sifting through the bodies. There was gun fire, not from her, but from another source. And then there was yelling, someone shouting at her. A shotgun was pulled from the blood and gore – not a double-barrel, but a pump action. She pivoted on her knee, the armor grinding into something soft and slick as she raised the weapon and took aim.

Hancock, still sprawled on the floor in his office, watched helplessly as the deathclaw leapt towards his soulmate once more.


	12. 095. Powerless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was edited 6/17/18

095\. Powerless

The silence that immediately followed the attack was both haunting and brief. Explosive gunfire and shrill screaming echoed and dwindled within the ruinous buildings around her until she was left with oppressive silence. The creature’s corpse was draped over Nora like a heavy winter blanket. There was a barely-there second where Nora felt a surge of relief, but it was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of complete helplessness. Her body was pinned beneath the monster’s weight. Though she tried to lift her arms and push the corpse away, her arms merely jerked within the confines of the power armor. Nora felt heavy. Her limbs strained against all the weight but nothing budged. Her back bowed with the effort. She tried to kick her legs, she tried to push and roll. Nora was stuck under the beast, trapped in a tin can. Weak. Helpless. A shuddering whimper left Nora as she threw all of her efforts into getting free. She began to hyperventilate. The eyes of the helmet began to fog as panic set in.

That heavy, lingering silence was shattered by an ear splitting scream. Nora thrashed, but no matter how hard she tried, no matter how loud she screamed, she couldn’t move - couldn’t get out. She was helpless, stuck and incapable of doing anything aside from watching as the man aimed the gun at Nathan’s chest, as someone carried her baby away.

“Nathan!” She shrieked, her voice cracking. Her eyes bulged, as her body quaked. “NATE!?” Her struggles renewed, trying to free herself so she could try to defend her family. “NATE! NATE PLEASE! SHAWN!?”

_“Lady, hey, listen. Okay? Hey, take a deep breath. Focus on me.”_

It wasn’t Nate’s rumbling baritone. It wasn’t as deep, it had more gravel. The realization was chilling, and heartbreaking. A choked sob tore from her throat, tears flooding her vision. “N-nate-" she whimpered.

_“C’mon, lady. Focus.”_

She did. She took deep heaving breaths and focused on the man at the other end of the bond. There was some residual panic, but there was also a flooding relief that forced her body to relax completely. Her breathing evened, and she sniffled. Snot was dribbling from her nose, but she couldn’t wipe it away.

_“There ya go, honey. ”_

The creature’s corpse was slowly replaced; a room, mostly made of surprisingly well kept wood. A couch, a coffee table – a small group of people with weapons, peering towards her with wide, uncertain eyes. This was better. By leaps and bounds, it was better. She no longer felt confined and helpless. Her connection to her soulmate set her at ease, despite the crowd of strangers. 

_“Hey, boys,”_ her soulmate drawled as he pushed himself to his feet. _“Say hello, to… What’s your name, doll?”_

“Eleanor,” she sniffled. “Nora.”

 _“Nora,”_ he repeated, saying her name like a prayer.

One of the men lifted a hand and waved. _“You gotta soulmate, mayor?”_

They were all dressed quite nicely, suits and fedoras. There were a couple within the small crowd that didn’t quite look right. Something was wrong with their skin – it was as if they had been burned. She furrowed her eyebrows, focusing on her breathing. They looked reminiscent of patients she’d seen in the VA hospital Nate used to frequent. 

“Is… “ a slow exhale. “Are they… are they alright?”

There was a moment where she picked up on his confusion, and then he released a low chuckle. _“Oh, honey, you ain’t seen a ghoul yet?”_

There was a couple of responding chuckles from the men in the crowd, and then a female voice was telling them to go ahead and go – that everything was fine. The group collectively turned and left the room, the door closing behind them. 

“Ghoul?”

_“Some folks were exposed to a shit-ton of radiation and didn’t die. Ya got the standard ghouls, like the gentlemen that you saw… and then ya got the ferals. Those are the ones ya gotta look out for.”_

Ferals. There was no need for an explanation there. Just as she started to dwell on the incredible capabilities of the human body she felt herself move. Blinking a handful of times, she focused on the world around her, only to see the worried face of Preston Garvey.

“Nora,” he said, a wide grin splitting his features. “You’re alive!”

“I’m alive,” she confirmed weakly. “I can’t move.”

There was a low, dangerous drawl from her bond, _“Looks like ya made a friend after all, sweetheart.”_

She ignored the surge of jealousy that she felt, still focused on utilizing the calming relief that still clung to him.

“That deathclaw knocked into you pretty hard,” Preston said kindly. “Probably knocked the Fusion Core loose. We’ll get you figured out – Sturges! Can we get your help over here?”

Nora watched the two men as they worked to pull the dead deathclaw off of her. She then did her best to assist them in rolling the inoperable power armor over onto its front so they could get a look at the potential damage. Meanwhile, waves of irritation of jealousy lapped at her sense. Before she had the chance to snap at either of the men, Nora blocked the incoming emotions. She focused on keeping her breathing even, on keeping her panic in check.

It didn’t take long for the two men to get Nora out of the suit. Sturges was a tinkerer, and he seemed to know his way around the armor when the core proved to be useless. She walked with the company towards Sanctuary Hills, staying her distance for the time being. She didn’t know these people, and though they seemed to be mostly peaceful (Marcy Long was a hostile little thing, and the man she was linked to insisted that Nora tell the woman to do unspeakable things to a Brahmin (whatever that was)), she had been attacked enough times that she felt better staying her distance.

Nora watched as the people took over her Sanctuary Hills. She watched as they settled in and began taking over buildings. She told Codsworth to keep people away from the house – because it was hers, and Nate’s and there was no way in hell that she was going to give it up. Nora hid herself away in the house, flinching at any loud voice or sound that made it into her safe haven. As it got closer to dark, Nora ultimately decided that she didn’t feel safe staying in the house with the neighborhood’s newest occupants.

“Miss,” Codsworth said gently, his tone borderline soothing as he drifted close to her. “Perhaps mum would be more comfortable elsewhere…?”

Nora shook her head, arms crossing over her torso. “I don’t know where I would go.”

“There is a truckstop near here, just outside of town.” She knew the one he was talking about, the Red Rocket truck stop. Nate had been friends with the owner. “The place is still quite structurally sound. Perhaps I could escort you there?” Before she could object, the Mr. Handy continued, “And then I would pop right back home, mum. To watch the place, as you said.”

Nora agreed, and on the short walk there, she wondered if she would ever get used to this world. She wondered if she would always be untrusting towards people. She also wondered if she would ever find her backbone in this place. Instead of retreating from her home, she could have stood her ground, told them that if anyone touched the house that she would deal with them personally – she had no power in this world, though. She wasn’t the lawyer that had put so many scumbags behind bars, she wasn’t the woman with the towering behemoth of a husband who could knock damn near anybody into next week and she sure as hell couldn’t stomach the idea of threatening them with bodily harm. 

The one person that she could trust to help her was someone she wanted to avoid. She was irritated that she had caved in so soon, but it was abundantly clear that she was going to need his help if she wanted to survive. That didn’t mean anything, though. It wasn’t like she was running to him with open arms. This was strictly business.

As the truck stop came into view, Nora reached out to him.

“What’s your name again?”

 _“Forget my name already, did ya?”_ Came the rasping chuckle. _“You can call me John.”_


	13. 019. Helping Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue heavy chapter.  
> Not sorry.

019\. Helping Hand

To say that Hancock had been around the block a few times was an understatement. There was still a lot of life left on his tires, but he had already witnessed and experienced so much. Hancock had seen the moral degradation of an entire city. He watched as the desire for power consumed his very own brother. He himself was oppressed, used, and beaten until he couldn’t take any more. Hancock was the leader of the coup. Hancock was the ghoul with the balls to overthrow that shit stain Vic. Then he took charge. John had heaps of experience – and that was what his Nora needed. The woman needed help navigating the Commonwealth, learning the nuances, and familiarizing herself with the common tools of survival. Hancock was more than happy to give his soulmate a helping hand, from simple terminology…

_”That cow has two heads!”_

“That’s a Brahmin, doll face.”

_”That’s a two-headed cow.”_

“Brahmin.”

_”Cow.”_

“Brahmin.”

To more technical assistance, like hacking into the still functioning terminals that were scattered across the Commonwealth, lock picking, and cleaning her guns. She would get particularly frustrated when she was sent on a task that required hacking, even with Hancock’s step-by-step instruction. Nora was a fiery little thing when she got mad. He thought it was adorable. Despite the hiccups, Nora would follow his instruction to a T. She was studious, and inquisitive.

Hancock just wished that she would take his advice when he told her to tell Preston _fucking_ Garvey to stick it where the sun don’t shine. Garvey, with his perpetual insistence that his Nora be the General of the Minutemen. Garvey, insisting that the little neighborhood that his little rag-tag group of settlers infested was Nora’s responsibility. The people in the neighborhood needed to fuck off, too. They came to Nora and bitched about all of their problems, from the lack of food, to lack of water, and shelter, and defenses. 

The stress was beginning to take its toll.

“Honey, you don’t owe these people shit,” he rasped one night, tucked away in his office. He was nursing a cigarette and piss-tasting beer. “You saved them. Let’s not forget that, huh?”

On the other end, Nora was hiding out in a familiar haunt, some old truck stop near the so-called settlement. She was listening to the radio on her Pip-Boy, staring at the mess of scrapped materials that she had strewn about the garage. The mutt that she had managed to pick up was sitting right beside her, panting softly. Hancock was jealous of that flea-bag. The damn dog had received more love and attention in the past three days, than Hancock had in all of his lifetime. 

“Plus,” he continued, as he lurched up from the couch. “I think he just wants you t’be in charge so he don’t have t’be accountable when it all goes tits up.”

Nora scoffed, _“You have that feeling, too, huh?”_ An old football was lifted from the ground, and she gave it a toss out the open garage door. The dog ran off to retrieve it. _“I want to help. Really, I do. But… how do you even make a water purifier? I don’t even know where to start!”_

“Give it to that dickhead, Sturges. I bet he could figure it out.”

 _“Yeah,”_ she sighed. _“Maybe.”_

In just a couple short days, Hancock learned that Nora didn’t enjoy idle downtime. She would accept these bullshit tasks from Garvey so she could busy herself – and she liked to stay busy at all hours of the day. When she did find herself with nothing to do, she began to struggle. Her mind would slip into some dark places, and Hancock would be able to feel the depression and the sorrow overthrow her in waves. So Hancock made sure to keep her busy during the downtime, supplying ample amounts of idle chatter. Eventually, Nora would be able to sit with her own thoughts without starting to cry. It might take days. It might take weeks. Grief was funny that way. It seemed like she was already starting to get better, Hancock could see that despite her desperate attempts to distance herself from him. 

She would try her hardest to keep her replies short, and to keep the personal details to a minimum – but she would always give in. They would talk about things, silly things that meant absolutely nothing, but in those moments Hancock would feel the stress lift, had he could feel her mood lighten, and despite all of her efforts he would be able to pull the occasional chuckle from the woman. 

“You need to throw some of this shit out,” he drawled, meandering around the room. “What are you gonna do with 23 clipboards?”

_”25.”_

Hancock snorted into his beer, taking a swig as he neared the window. “Uh huh. And what are you gonna do with the…” he focused on her workspace, surveying the ever-growing mess. “Why do you have pool balls?”

There was a soft snort, _“Why do you have 13 empty bottles of vodka on your coffee table?”_

Hancock blinked a few times, taking a quick glance back at his coffee table and doing a quick count. Sure enough; 13 noticeably empty bottles of empty vodka. Nora didn’t typically reach out to him through their bond, and Hancock let his space get a little dirty in the past few days. A hard frown marred his features. A creeping anxiety made the muscles on the back of his neck prickle with unease. He had been trying to make a good impression, now she probably thought he was some lousy drunk.

Which he was. 

He was a druggie, too. 

_”Calm down. We all have our vices.”_

“Yeah? What’s yours, doll?”

There was a soft sigh – a sound of longing If Hancock had ever heard one. _“French fries dipped in a chocolate milkshake.”_ Her naturally husky voice dipped a little lower, sounding deliciously sultry. _“There was a little 24-hour diner near my apartment when I was in college. There were some weeks where I went there every day…”_

“I don’t think we got any of that stuff hangin’ around these days, honey,” he drawled. He pinched off the cigarette and lit up another one for the sake of keeping his hands busy. “College included.”

Nora sighed, and Hancock was given a view of the ceiling. _”Maybe I died and this place is Hell.”_

Hancock exhaled the smoke, grinning slowly. “Then Heaven must be missing an angel.”

There was a stretch of silence. Then, eventually, an inelegant snort. He felt her smile match his own, and then he heard her laugh. _”Really?”_

Hancock shrugged, returning to the couch. “I dunno. I’m kinda proud of that one. I thought of that one right on the spot.”

_”That was awful.”_

In times of grief it helped to know that it was still okay to laugh. Despite everything, it was alright to smile, and it was alright to find happiness even in the middle of all of the sad. If there was ever a day where that was all he could do to help her, Hancock would consider it a victory.


	14. 059. Puzzle

059\. Puzzle

Ultimately, Sturges wasn’t a whole lot of help. When Nora asked for some assistance he made a vague gesture towards his tool box, telling her to take whatever she needed before he went back to hammering at the start of a rickety foundation that seemed to be raised over night. With a tight frown marring her features, Nora dug through the tool box, sifting through drawers and boxes. She pulled what was familiar; screwdrivers, pliers, a ratchet and its accompanying box of mismatched bits, a wrench, and a booklet that detailed how to troubleshoot generator problems. After gathering her supplies, and avoiding Preston Garvey like the plague, Nora snuck out of town and made her way back to Concord with the dog in tow. 

Nora knew how her brain worked, she knew how she retained information, and knowledge, and she knew that if she was going to figure out how to build something then she was going to need to know how it worked, first. She needed to see the inside of the mechanism, and she needed to know what it needed to function. So she went to Concord, hoping to gather whatever odds and ends she came across, and find a functioning generator on the way. There were functioning generators on the upper levels of the museum, where the settlers had been hiding. Once settled in, and locked securely inside, Nora began to tear apart the generator, bolt by bolt, screw by screw. The guide that she had snagged from Sturges’ toolbox didn’t go with the model of the generator she was tinkering with, but she found that it still came in handy. It detailed the basic structure, and it gave a name to all of the strange parts inside. 

After gutting the machine, she started to put it back together. Piece by piece, like a puzzle. Her back hurt from slouching forward, her fingertip were tender and coated with dirt and oil. She was tired, thirsty, hungry… but she felt like she had accomplished something for the first time in several days. Nora had worked her butt off, and she had succeeded. She took the functioning generator, tore it apart, put it together, and it still worked. John hadn’t been feeding her step-by-step instructions in that soft and rasping voice of his. As much help as the man provided, sometimes it was nice to figure things out on her own. 

Nora’s relationship with John had shifted into friendly territory. On one hand, it was awfully nice to have a friend in the middle of this mess, but in the other she knew that she needed to be careful. Though she wanted to hate the man with all she was worth, he was likable. John was funny, and kind, and he seemed to take all of her emotional baggage in stride. Nora had glossed over most of the details regarding the vault and her family. He knew that she had been in the vault, with her family. He knew that her husband and soulmate was killed, that her child was taken… but she didn’t go into details. As much as she wanted to trust him, there were some things that were better played closer to the chest. 

When Nora went to the roof to get a bit of air, she was surprised to find just how dark it was. She had been tinkering with the generator for nearly the entire day. A cursory glance at the sky revealed no stars. It was cloudy, and it was miserably muggy. She glanced down at the dog who had been her constant companion since they stumbled upon each other. 

“What do ya say? Should we stay here for the night?”

The dog made no response outside of a small wave of his tail. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “We’ll stay here.” Clambering into the vertibird that was still perched on the rooftop, she made her way to take a look at the destroyed buildings. She busied herself for several minutes, surveying what she could from her vantage point. She wanted to make sure that she was alone, that there wasn’t anyone – or anything – lurking around in the growing darkness. 

The first roll of thunder made Nora shriek in surprise, her entire body jolting. The dog barked. It was only a handful of seconds later when a sickly green light flashed across the sky. The Pip-Boy began to click angrily. In her moment of curious uncertainty, she found herself reaching through the bond to the man with all of the answers. She regretted it almost immediately. John’s voice wasn’t the first she heard after making the connection. It was another voice, a man’s voice…

_”P-please, Mayor. It was just me!”_

The image of a blade, big and lethal caught the light in a dimly lit room. Nora watched, stupefied, as John pressed the tip of the knife to the begging man’s throat.

_”Yer breakin’ my heart,”_ came John’s rasping voice. It was dipped down low, rasping and husky and absolutely lethal. _”Why you gotta lie to your mayor, huh?”_ the knife pressed deeper, blood starting to pebble on the tip of the blade as the skin began to tear. The poor man gasped. 

_”I’m tellin’ the truth, I swear-!”_

Nora retreated with a strained gasp, eyes bulging and Geiger counter clicking. The thunder exploded, shaking her bones, and jolting her body into movement. She crawled through the vertibird and made her way back inside. She felt sick. Once inside, she searched through her pack for a bag of RadAway, hesitating when she remembered that she would have to insert the needle into her arm to accept the dosage. Her hands were too shaky, and even with the light of the Pip-Boy, she couldn’t quite see where the vein in her arm was located.

Nora huddled in the corner of the room that she had spent the majority of her day in. Pulling her knees to her chest, she placed her head between her knees and took deep breaths. The one person in all of the world that she was bound to was a… murderer? A psychopath? A sadist? 

And she had trusted him with her life.

Maybe this really was hell. 

-

Nora woke early the next morning to Dog sniffling at her face. Poor thing probably needed to go out and do his business. Slowly, she hoisted herself to her feet. She felt achy, and her stomach churned uncomfortably. All the same, she made her way down stairs, and towards the museum’s exit. A rush of cool air met her, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As Dog scampered off to do his business, Nora slowly sank to her knees as the world around her began to spin. Maybe she took in more rads than she had realized. She wrestled with her pack for a few moments, pulling out the RadAway and a scrap of fabric that she could use to tie around her bicep. Her veins had never been prominent, and even when she felt on the verge of throwing up, she didn’t want her arm to look like a pincushion. 

_”Mornin’, sweets,”_ John drawled softly, and then his tone crept up an octave in worry. _”Honey, you okay? You don’t feel so good.”_

Taking deep, slow breaths, Nora lined the needle up with her vein. Her stomach gave a gag-inducing churn just as she pushed the needle home. Her fingers fumbled with the IV, the bag and the cord until she weakly held it aloft to get the fluid running. 

_”RadAway? Nora, what happened?”_

The saliva in her mouth felt too hot, and it felt sticky. She spit at the ground, her stomach roiling. She heaved again, bile spattering to the ground beside her. 

_”Nora?”_

Nora closer her eyes tight, the bag still held up above her head as she wished him away. She didn’t want to talk to him. Not right now, and definitely not after what she saw last night. It worked out, because at the moment she didn’t have the ability to answer him.

-

After drifting in and out of consciousness for a couple of hours in the streets of Concord, Nora eventually found that she had the strength to hobble back to Sanctuary. Her head was pounding, and it felt like she couldn’t drink enough water to sate her thirst. She hadn’t ate or drank much the day before, and after tossing the contents of her empty stomach she was more than positive that she was dehydrated. 

Preston greeted her as she shambled into town. What started as a friendly, excited greeting turned to worry in a flash, and before she could stop him he was helping her towards a seat in the shade of one of the old buildings. The Minuteman looked her over, feeling her forehead with the back of her hand before rushing off. Nora closed her eyes, letting her aching body go completely slack. 

“Not lookin’ so hot, huh, kid?”

“Hey, Mama,” Nora rasped, not bothering to open her eyes as the couch she occupied dipped and shifted with the new presence. 

“You watched the lights.”

“Y’can say that.”

“You watched somethin’ else, too.”

One of Nora’s eyes opened just a crack, and she cast the elderly woman a sidelong glance. Much like the generator, this woman was also a bit of a puzzle. She knew about the deathclaw beneath Concord, and she somehow knew about her ties to Sanctuary. Nora was a bit of a skeptic on the best of days. Fortunetellers dropped vague statements and then fed off of reactions. There was nothing else to it.

But Mama Murphy really seemed to know her stuff. 

“He ain’t so bad, you know. But he also is. A killer, and a savior. He’d do anything for you, though, kid.”

“Nora,” Preston said gently upon his approach. “I’ve got a bed set up for you so you can rest. Let’s get you to your feet.”

Nora let Preston assist her to the bed, and as she stretched out and closed her eyes, she wished she would have just stayed in Concord. At least, that way, she wouldn’t feel so curiously torn.


	15. 028. Recoil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, very minor edit was done to the last chapter. Interrogated gent says something different, but it makes 0 difference to basically anything. 
> 
> Also... Dark Hancock in this chapter. 
> 
> Not saying it's wildly graphic or anything, but this chapter touches on torture.

028\. Recoil

Hancock took a languid drag of his cigarette then took a slow drink of whiskey. The ice in the glass rattled in the quiet of the room. With a steady exhale, the smoke drifted from his mouth, curling up around his tricorn before dissipating. Both vices were set aside. He tossed the hat to the bed, then shrugged out of his coat. The tunic followed a beat later. A shock of red marred the ancient material, and there was a new hole in the midst of it. He would have to get with Daisy about removing blood stains from clothing. His tongue moved over his teeth in thought for a handful of seconds before he turned and approached the mirror. He eyeballed his reflection, and then swore before yanking the patriotic sash from his hips. Blood was getting everywhere. The whole getup was going to need a thorough washing. His eyes narrowed on the wound, and he silently acknowledged that if the blade had been angled any differently he might have been completely fucked. 

The rocks glass was picked up from the stool next to the mirror, and he leaned back. The wound stretched, it opened and a gush of dark blood contributed to the growing crimson stain that marred the waist of his pants. He tilted the glass, and hissed through his teeth as the alcohol coated the wound. An old rag was used to dry the injury as well as he could, and then he lifted the prepared suture. The stitches were easy, and they were neat. Hancock knew his shit, after everything he had been through. Hell, he might as well be a doctor. 

Doctor Hancock didn’t have nearly as much of a ring to it as Mayor Hancock did, though. 

He worked the needle through his thick, mangled skin, occasionally using both hands – one to work the needle, the other to push the skin down against the fine point – to complete a stitch. His face was contorted into a continuous scowl, and the pain had nothing to do with it. 

John was pissed. 

No. No, he was infuriated. 

Someone made a move on him in his own fucking town – and it wasn’t that asshole Fin. He didn’t even know the guy who did it, some jumpy smoothskin motherfucker with a knife. The job was sloppy, and if Hancock knew his shit – which he fucking did – he would say that it was the smoothskin’s first time trying to kill someone up close and personal. 

“Boss.” It was Fahrenheit. He looked up into the mirror, seeing her reflection in the doorway. She looked like she was ready to kill someone, but her voice was smooth and even.

“He ready, yet?” Hancock drawled, dropping the needle and letting it hang from the threading as he took his cigarette and placed the end between his lips. He took a drag, then took up the needle in his fingers again. 

“He’s still out,” she said. “But he’s showing signs of coming ‘round.”

“Good,” the cigarette waved as he spoke, still between his lips as he finished up another stitch. “Keep him good and comfortable until I get there. Please and thank you.”

They spoke to each other in an even sort of cadence, none of their pent up ire displayed verbally towards one another. This was a song and dance that the duo knew too well. Take the wrong steps, and they would be dancing on their partner’s toes. No, there was a precision to this sort of thing and nothing good would come out of it if they pissed each other off. 

Fahrenheit nodded just once, and then she was gone. 

Focusing back on the task at hand, Hancock finished up his needlework. He eyeballed his work in the mirror, then nodded his approval. Maybe he was a tailor in a past life. He was damn good with a needle. The cigarette was clasped between his fingers, then he killed the remaining alcohol before he pivoted on his heel and left his bedroom. He took his time down the stairs, shuffling down them one by one, flicking ash as he went along. It didn’t take long to get to his destination. Two of Goodneighbor’s finest were held up outside of the room, weapons in hand. As he neared, they greeted him. 

“Fahr’s waitin’ inside, boss.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he practically purred. He pulled his knife from the sheath that was tucked into the back of his pants. One of the Neighborhood Watch reached out and opened the door, and Hancock stepped into the dimly lit room. The door closed behind him. Candles were lit here and there, casting hauntingly long shadows up along the walls. The idiot smoothskin was tied down to a high backed chair. His feet were secured to the legs, his wrists to the arms, and his chest to the backing. All wrapped up like a goddamn birthday present. 

He was already struggling when Hancock entered the room, and upon seeing him the man began to wail complete nonsense about 'not meaning to' and being 'sorry' and how he wanted to be let go… blah blah _fucking_ blah. The ghoul mayor made a show of pacing the length of the room, using the blade to clean some of the drying blood out from under his fingernails. The smoothskin continued on his tirade, and when he talked himself into whimpering sobs, Hancock slowed to a stop. 

“Ya know,” he said on a sigh, pinching off the cigarette and tossing it to the ground at his captive’s feet. “I don’t much ‘preciate bein’ attacked.” The man wailed another sob of terror as Hancock stepped closer. “And ya know what’s worse? You didn’t even do the fucking job right. Ya see…” another step, and he was able to drag the tip of his bowie knife against the man’s shirt, right around the same territory that Hancock had been stabbed. “This space here? If ya did it right, you coulda caught one of my lungs. Another angle and ya coulda hit my kidney…” he sighed softly. “Ya managed to avoid both of ‘em. So unless you were just tryin’ to hurt me…”

“No,” he whispered. “No, I – I didn’t--“

Hancock gasped, the response overly animated. “So you were tryin’ t’kill me?” The knife still dancing along the man’s abdomen, Hancock turned to face Fahrenheit. She was leaning back against the wall, the cherry of her cigarette glowing bright. “Y’hear that, Fahr? He was tryin’ t’ kill me!”

“No! No, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Fahrenheit scoffed, “Sorry for not finishing the job.”

“No!”

“Aw, kid,” Hancock drawled, withdrawing with the knife. His still bloodstained hand clapped onto the man’s face. “Yer lucky. I don’t think you did this on yer own volition. Personally, I think someone put you up to the job. What did they offer ya, huh? Caps? Chems?” The man was wild eyed, pupils blown. “It was the chems, wasn’t it? Buddy, I’m the fuckin’ Kingpin. All ya gotta do is come ‘n’ ask your ol’ friend Mayor Hancock. I’d’a fixed you up right…”

The man was shaking his head, and just watching gave Hancock a headache. “No! It was nobody! Just me! It was me! Please, Mayor! It was just me!”

Hancock lifted the bowie knife, deliberately angling the blade to catch the flickering candle light. He pressed the point to the man’s throat. Leaning in close, Hancock could see the snot dribbling down over the man’s lips, he could smell urine. 

“Yer breakin’ my heart,” he hissed. He pressed harder, and blood started to seep from the pressure point. The skin was breaking, slicing under the sharpened point of the blade. The man gasped in pain. Poor sonnova bitch didn’t know pain, yet. “Why you gotta lie to yer mayor, huh?” More pressure, more blood. 

The man gasped, “I’m tellin’ the truth, I swear!”

There was a sound; barely there, just a fraction of a gasp. He recoiled, yanking the knife from the man’s neck. The movement stressed his sutures. It wasn’t Fahrenheit. That woman could do this sorta thing to the right people for shits and grins. “Nora?” he rasped softly, his blood suddenly rushing in his ears. The woman had devoted her entire day to working on a generator. Last he checked, she was still elbow-deep in oil and gears and hardware. There was no response, but he would bet every last cap he had to his name that she had been there. If only for a second. He didn’t dare chase after her, though. He didn’t want to chance it. 

“John?” Fahrenheit asked, sounding somewhat concerned. 

Two steps forward...

Hancock’s hands moved forward lightning quick. An index finger was in his grasp, the blade of the knife pressed right below the knuckle. Black eyes met terrorized green. “Tell me who sent you, or yer gonna start losin’ fingers.”

... Eight-fucking-million steps back. 

“Nobody!” He applied pressure, blood oozed and gushed. The blade met bone. “PLEASE IT WAS NO ONE! NO ONE SENT ME!”

-

Bobbi. Fucking. No-Nose. 

Two and a half fingers, and all the progress he had made with his soulmate for Bobbi _Fucking_ No-Nose. The poor sod had made a valiant effort, but it had only been a matter of time. He didn’t even have to get the jet involved. By the end of their discussion, the guy was giving him all the details he could ever ask for. Bobbi was looking to knock him out of the game for good, it seemed. Bobbi had found him (the guy’s name was Jenson), and bribed him to kill Hancock. She threatened to kill his family (his wife, Amelia, his daughter Beth, and his infant son Jenson Jr.) if he didn’t do whatever she said. 

After getting the information he wanted, he got where the guy lived (a little house off to the east, near the bay). With the man sobbing in the background, Hancock stepped in close to Fahrenheit. She offered him a towel so he could clean off his hands. He gave Fahrenheit further instruction. Call the doctor. Get ol’ Jenson patched up. Send a couple guys out to Jenson’s place. Get Bobbi – preferably before she murdered Jenson’s family. Get her to Goodneighbor. Alive. Maybe bring Jenson's family along if they were still alive and kicking.

Fahrenheit nodded her understanding, then Hancock made his leave. 

Once out of the room, Hancock starting cleaning off his hands. The two men that had been stationed at the door were still there, completely unperturbed. 

“Just another day at the office, huh, boys?” The dingy cloth was quickly staining a variety of reds and pinks. “I’d like to see you two up in my office in about ten minutes, if you kids are free.”

“Sure, Mayor.”

“Of course.”

Hancock reached to tilt his hat, only to falter when he realized he wasn’t wearing it. He wasn’t wearing much of anything, actually. Just pants, boots, and blood. With a dejected sigh – the hat tilt would have been so damn classic – Hancock made his way upstairs. 

The meeting was brief. Hancock poured the drinks and supplied the smokes, and both were happily accepted as they lounged in his office on the pair of old sofas. After some bullshitting and a bit of catching up, Hancock dove into business. The bloody rag he had used to clean his hands was sitting on the coffee table between them, resting amidst the cups of alcohol. It was a reminder, as subtle and silent as it was. 

“I’m sure you two heard a lot tonight,” Hancock started, eying the two from under the hard ridges of his eyebrows. 

The gentleman on the right finished his drink. He kissed his teeth, and licked his lips. “I didn’t hear shit, Mayor.”

Hancock’s eyes shifted to the guard on the left.

“Not a goddamn thing.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

Both ghouls left the office a couple hundred caps richer, eager to jump on their cushy babysitting gig. 

It took every bit of restraint that he possessed to keep himself from reaching out for Nora. He wanted to check on her, and start the process of placating the woman before it was too late. Maybe he could explain himself. Before he could organize his thoughts, Fahrenheit strolled into his office. She plopped down on the couch opposite of him and sighed. 

“Nora?”

Hancock poured himself another glass. “I think she saw.”

“She would have eventually. If not tonight, later. It’s best to get it out of the way.”

“Yeah. Maybe yer right.”

“I’m right,” Fahrenheit said lightly, sounding positive, and collected. “You know I am. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have chanced it. You could have left it to me. You didn’t even have to be in the room.”

He sighed heavily. “Maybe yer right,” he said again. He winked. She rolled her eyes. 

The rest of the evening was devoted to business, planning for Bobbi and any other possible attacks. He’d check on Nora tomorrow.


	16. 015. Affront

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's super long winded. I'm... actually, a little sorry. 
> 
> Philosophers mentioned are... Thomas Hobbes, and Darwin.

015\. Affront

 

Back in college, Nora’s schedule was a precariously delicate thing. Work, school, and study time were somehow crammed together in a somewhat cohesive pattern that she tracked with a calendar that was pinned on the door to her apartment. Some days she worked a morning shift at a nearby diner, until she had to rush to a class. Other days she had a noon shift, and she almost always worked weekends. Coffee had been her best friend back in those days. It helped her power through her classes and her studying, and it helped her through her workday. There was very little time for a social life outside of study groups, and there was even less time she could give her body the exercise that it needed. With her days so thoroughly jam packed, and with her mornings already kicking off at the crack of dawn, Nora had taken to walking or running in the middle of the night. 

There had been more than one occasion where she had to stop and talk to the cops due to reports of a suspicious person running around in the middle of the night. The police officers in question got to know Nora pretty well, and they were able to find her on her typical exercise route. One of the officers insisted that she packed a can of pepper spray, and when she didn’t get her own he gave one to her. It was surprising how much safer she felt with the little aerosol can tucked into her pocket. Nora had never once been accosted by any sort of assailant, but it was nice knowing she would be prepared if she was. 

These days, with the world in complete disrepair, Nora could be armed to the teeth and she would still be completely on edge. After recovering from her bout of radiation sickness, she had meandered around Sanctuary for a bit. She let Codsworth be the mother hen that he was; he worried over her, and fed her, before talking her ear off for nearly an entire hour about the settlers that had taken residence in their neighborhood. Eventually, Nora and her faithful canine companion, made their way out of Sanctuary. Instead of going to the Truck Stop, Nora found herself wandering straight passed her home away from home. She made her way through Concord. Despite having been passed out sick in the middle of the street for a good chunk of the morning with no trouble at all, she kept her pistol loaded and in her hand. Unlike the comfort the pepper spray bought her so many years ago, the pistol didn’t bring her any sense of security. She continued to wander, though, without any particular destination in mind.

Nora knew that if she had any hope to find Shaun, she needed to leave the comforts of home and start looking. Being guided by the hand wouldn’t help her towards her own goals. She had already learned that requesting help from Preston Garvey came with certain stipulations. In return for his help, he wanted her to accept the title of General, and he wanted her to lead the Minutemen. Nora could barely take care of herself. She wasn’t going to accept responsibility for other people. John’s motives were clear, but there hadn’t been any stipulations – or, at least, she hadn’t thought so… 

But there was apparently way more to John than she had expected. 

Mama Murphy said he was a killer, but also a savior. 

The concept made Nora uncomfortable, but at the same time… had Nate been any different? Nate had been a military man, trained to fight and kill to keep his country and his people safe. And he had killed people – he had openly admitted it. As far as Nora knew, Nate had never tortured a man for information, though. That brief glimpse the night before, watching as the knife slowly slipped into the skin of the sobbing man, had chilled Nora to the bone. She was reminded yet again, that this was a different place. It might as well be a different world. Nora hadn’t witnessed any sort of standardized law. People were roaming about with guns and makeshift weapons. They were attacking one another for money, and gear. 

Nora could recall more than one philosopher that would be preening with delight at the current state of things. There was one scholar in particular who argued that the natural condition of mankind was, essentially, constant state of war. Not war as she had known it, but a war that pinned each and every single person against each other; where it was a man’s natural right to do everything in his power to survive. There was another scholar, who would chalk it all up to the standard Social Darwinism: Only the strong survive. 

Both theories seemed applicable; constant war, survival of the fittest. 

Even as she tried to justify it, Nora hated it. She hated it so much. She missed feeling safe. She missed being able to trust her neighbors not to come into her house and kill her in the middle of the night because they wanted something of hers. 

“You know,” she said to Dog (Mama had disclosed that the mutt’s name was actually DogMeat, but that seemed strangely cruel). “This place was beautiful once.” She looked up at the sky, the color didn’t seem quite right. It was still blue, but it wasn’t quite _sky blue_. It was paler, maybe, lacking its luster. It hurt, realizing that even the sky looked different from what it had been. Weather patterns were even off, apparently toting vivid green and radioactive lightning. “There used to be so much more color. Not that it matters to you…” She glanced at her companion, and he wasn’t really paying attention to her. His tongue was lolling out to side, and the mutt looked pleased as punch. “You’re not a very good conversationalist,” she drawled, slinging her pack from one of her shoulders so she could root through the contents on the go. She pulled out a bottle of water, and took a gulp. She knelt down beside the dog, cupping her hand and pouring some of the water into her palm. The dog lapped at the offered water lazily. 

They kept walking, only slowing when Nora caught sight of a familiar structure in the distance. A small smile tugged at her features as she took in what was left of the Starlight Drive-In. The massive screen was still in place, towering above everything else in the immediate vicinity. This had been one of Nate’s favorite places. He was a big horror movie buff, and once a month they would do a horror movie double-feature. It was a monthly tradition. Nate wanted to another truck just for movie night. When they had first got together, Nate had this old truck. It had been his pride and joy. On movie nights, they would load the bed of the truck with pillows and blankets and go to the drive in. They would be able to recline and relax, and feast on overpriced popcorn while watching some of the worst movies that Nora had ever seen. 

With a little bit of a pep in her step, Nora lead the way towards the drive-in. 

She wasn’t sure how odd it was that there were cars still parked at the drive-in. For the most part, the vehicles that were present were pristinely aligned, facing the screen as if they had been waiting to watch a movie when the bombs fell. Sometimes vehicles were left over night, if the driver’s got a little too inebriated, but their presence still seemed a bit odd. She wasn’t complaining, though. The familiarity of it all was a welcome sight. She picked up her pace, and if she was feeling a bit more like herself she would probably be running through the lot towards the concession stand but her uplifted stride fell short when Dog released a vicious snarl. 

Nora came to a complete stop, eyes turning to look at the animal. His hackles were raised, his teeth bared. His eyes were locked on the ground, and he was waiting. Nora grimaced – she had seen that behavior before, within minutes of coming across the animal. Throwing caution to the wind, Nora made a run towards one of the closer vehicles. She wanted off of the ground, having once fallen victim the burrowing creature’s wrath once before. 

The encounter didn’t last long. With Dog’s pray drive, and his uncanny ability to pinpoint the nasty creatures before they came shooting from the ground, Nora was able to take aim and ready herself to shoot at the first sign movement. With John’s guidance, Nora had become rather proficient with her pistol. He had coached her to the smallest things, her stance, the way she held the gun, the way she pulled the trigger. Without John’s help, Nora would have been dead a long time ago. The thought made her uneasy and guilty at the same time. 

Hopping down from the vehicle, Nora knelt down to praise her canine companion. With blood coating his muzzle, the dog trotted over proudly, tail wagging. “You’re such a good boy,” she cooed, scratching at that spot on his neck that got his leg kicking. “Very good boy.” Once left alone to his own devices, the dog returned to one of his kills and started eating. Nora left him to it, deciding that she would feast on whatever snack cakes Codsworth had stored in her pack before she left. Nora wandered about the lot. She practically shrieked when she neared the pit that marred the once pristine lot. Her Geiger counter started clicking as the neared its vicinity. She turned tail and ran until the clicking stopped. 

“I’ve had enough radiation sickness for the day, thank you very much,” she groused, eyeballing the pit as if it had been there to single her out, personally. 

In the midst of all of the vehicles, there was a single pickup truck, and Nora hadn’t felt so giddy in days. The tailgate was facing the screen, just as she liked it. She didn’t hesitate to drop the tailgate and clamber into the bed of the truck. It was a little rusty, but it was clean for the most part. She unshouldered her pack, and took a quick swig of water. A cursory glance around showed that she was still very much alone. She would take a look at the cars, see what sorta junk she could pull from the wreckage. If she brought enough back, maybe Sturges would give her the time of day and help her figure out the whole water purifier thing. 

Some of the things in the vehicle were already missing. She was wildly surprised to find that an entire engine had been plucked from one of the cars already There were still things that could be of use; fan belts, filters, alternators. The ratchet came in handy, and the noise was methodic to a point where it was nearly soothing. With the music playing from her Pip-Boy, it was real easy to get immersed in the work. That was, until a gentle voice came drifting across her consciousness. The sound made her jump, the cranking ratchet’s rhythmic clicking faltered as the bit was pulled from the bolt she was working on. 

_”Didn’t really peg ya t’be a gear head…”_

Nora lurched for her Pip-Boy, resting under the hood on some of the vehicle’s innards so it wouldn’t get in the way. It was sorta nice to not have the weight clasped to her wrist. She turned the dial, turning the music down until it was barely audible. She practically gulped as she attempted to gather her bearings. This was the moment she had been waiting on all day. With all of the time she had to think this over, she still wasn’t entirely positive what she was going to say to him. 

“It’s, um…” her voice was airy with nervousness, and she cleared her throat to gather herself. “It’s actually kind of fun.”

_”Looks messy, t’me…”_

She glanced at her hands, and they were once again coated in dirt and oil. It was under her nails, coating her cuticles. Her palms dragged over the thighs of her vault suit as she forced a slight chuckle, “Yeah, kind of.”

There was a silence that stretched between them, and Nora wondered if he had left. Her hand shifted back to the Pip-Boy to turn the music back up. 

_”You… really had me worried this morning, y’know.”_

Nora scoffed, picking up the pieces of machine that she had managed to salvage from the vehicle and walked them back towards her truck. “I had myself really worried this morning.”

_”How’d you end up gettin’ sick?”_

“I learned about radiation storms last night,” she replied weakly. She had learned a lot of things last night. 

_”That ain’t all you learned.”_

She visibly grimaced. His voice was firm, and he was unapologetic. It was a matter-of-fact statement, and it left very little room to skirt around the topic. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. She wouldn’t be ready in a million years. 

_”Look,”_ he said slowly, sounding tired. _”I never said that I was a good guy, sweets. I’m not your fuckin’_ Nate _alright? I—“_

Had he been here in person, Nora would have rounded on John with the speed and force of a bullet. She slammed her fists onto the tailgate of the truck and snapped, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you _fucking_ dare!” 

Had she not been so infuriated at the mere mention of her deceased husband, Nora would have flinched at her own usage of the F-word. She could practically taste that bar of soap. John was silent, but he was still there. She could feel it. 

“That man was _everything_ to—“

_”And he was fucking perfect. I fucking get it! But he’s dead, and you’re stuck with me—“_

Even as Nora’s voice rose, even as she yelled over John, she couldn’t find the capabilities to control her anger. As she tried to yell over John, John tried to yell over her, and then they were yelling at each other.

She didn't notice her arriving audience.


	17. 068. Harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Trigger Warning. 
> 
> It doesn't get anywhere close to rape, but the unsavory guests make their intentions real clear.

068\. Harm

Hancock was lashing out, and he was abundantly aware of it. This time, he wasn’t feeding off of her feelings, and he was sure that she wasn’t feed off of his. Their emotions were genuine. Even as Hancock yelled, even as he chucked his bottle of vodka against the wall, he knew that shit was disintegrating around them. He was throwing all of his pent up stress and anger at her – and it felt good to finally let it out. The days he had spent desperately trying to get his soulmate to acknowledge his existence had almost physically hurt. Watching her get injured, and having her decline any form of help had almost been worse. Even though he was sure that he understood her end of the situation, it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any fucking less. If yelling at the woman was the only catharsis he was going to get, he would happily take it. 

_”—And then last night—”_

“Last night ain’t got nothin’ t’do with this,” he bellowed. “You’ve wanted me gone the second you realized I was fucking here!”

_”You lied to me! You lied to me about—“_

“I didn’t lie about shit! I never once said—“

_You deliberately withheld information! That is a lie by omission!”_

“Oh, please! Get offa yer high horse—“

_”I’m not—“_

“The fuck you ain’t! And just so you know, it hasn’t been a fuckin’ treat bein’ connected to you, either, sister! D’you know how fucking shitty it is—“

_”I haven’t mislead—“_

“—realizing that you have a soulmate, and she hates you simply because you exist!? Because that is the _only_ reason—“

_”And I was right to hate you! You tortured that man! You’re no better than anyone out here! You were misleading me. Who knows what you would have done to me if I—“_

Nora was pacing, stomping back and forth in front of a the tailgate of the pickup. It was funny, because he had taken to pacing, too. No one had bothered to make sure he wasn’t locked in his office killing someone. The majority of the Neighborhood Watch knew his situation. Them, Fahrenheit, and Daisy knew about Nora – and Hancock had made sure that they wouldn’t be telling anyone anytime soon. It was for his, and Nora’s safety. If word go out to the wrong people that Hancock had a soulmate, it might cause trouble for the both of them. 

“What I would’a done t’you? I’ve been busting my ass t’take care of you! I’ve been—“

He faltered, stomping to a halt. During their argument, he had been getting a view of his office, as well as an image of wherever the hell she was. His office overlapped her perspective; his office, with some sort of blurry expanse of wasteland resting just beyond it. If he focused on one perspective in particular, he could easily make the other vanish. So, while he paced with both his and her perspective swimming around in his vision, he noticed two people. Their size was too disproportionate for them to be standing in his office (unless they were midgets… or maybe he was hallucinating). Hancock’s attention shifted, the image outside becoming more prominent until his office no longer existed. 

The boiling anger that had been fueling his tirade turned into frigid ice as she pivoted and turned her back to the newcomers. 

“Nora,” he said her name softly, firmly. The change in his tone made her voice falter, and her steps slowed. “You got company incoming. They didn’t look like the friendly type. If you run for it, y’can bet yer ass that they’re gonna start shootin’.”

To his surprise, Nora kept pacing, and she kept yelling. She was holding a one sided argument with herself now. She was ranting and raging as if the incoming threat wasn’t there at all. 

“What the fuck…?” He had no idea what she had up her sleeve, and at the moment he didn’t give a damn. There were other things that needed to be addressed, first. “You got a weapon handy?”

 _”So you think I’m an idiot now, too?!”_ she shrieked, still pacing. She pivoted towards her audience, seeming to make it a point to focus on the duo for a mere second just before she pivoted once again, her back to them. Her gaze locked onto her pistol, propped next to her Pip-Boy under the hood of the car she had been tinkering with. A soft hiss, barely audible, reached his ears, _”John, I…”_

“I know, sweets. You don’t have a whole lotta options right now. They didn’t look like they’re lookin’ to fight just yet. Just, focus on me if ya need t’keep calm, okay? I’m right here with you.”

She took a deep breath, and then her voice pitched up into an irate yell. _”I want you outta my head! Get out!”_ her hand lifted, and he felt the heel of her palm smack into the side of her head once, twice. _”GET OUT!”_ As she turned on her foot, dog barked from somewhere nearby, and her steps faltered to a stop. The two men were closer now, and it would be much too odd if she still pretended that she didn’t see them. She came to a stop, and slowly cocked her head to the side. Hancock’s vision tilted, and he held his breath. 

_”Hey there, lovely,”_ One of the men drawled. His voice was overly friendly, and his smile was unsettling. His eyes racked over Nora’s body without shame, and his smile grew. Hancock faced the scrutiny right along with her, standing and witnessing everything as if he were in her place. He was a tall man, and he was lean. He was wearing a mess of various armor pieces, things created out of various scrap parts. His partner was similarly dressed, though the entirety of his torso was bare. Where his partner was tall, he was stocky, muscular. Scars marred his skin, some looking deliberate. A gas mask covered his face. Both were armed, but neither of them had their weapons at the ready. 

Gas Mask blatantly adjusted himself, palming his groin through his pants. Tall Guy licked his lips, nice and disgustingly suggestive. Hancock felt Nora’s stomach churn. 

“Easy, Nora,” he whispered. “Easy. Focus on me, honey. Get to yer gun if you can.”

Nora’s vision tilted from one way, to the other as she cocked her head the other way. She released a ragged breath, _”Can I help you?”_

 _“Who are you talkin’ to, lovely?”_ Tall Guy purred, shuffling forward casually. 

_”The voice won’t stop talking,”_ she whined in an airy voice, then whimpered softly as she turned her back to them again. Her palm smacked into the side of her head once again. _”I said SHUT UP!”_ she resumed her pacing, stomping towards the car, towards her gun and her Pip-Boy. 

“Be careful, now,” Hancock murmured. “As much as I dig yer acting chops, don’t get too cocky.”

 _”She’s fuckin’ crazy,”_ A muffled voice chuckled. _”Shut her up and that ass will bring in a shit ton’a caps, though.”_

_“I can give her something t’do with that pretty mouth.”_

A hair raising tremor show down Nora’s spine, and it made Hancock’s body quake for just a moment before he was able to gather himself. He may not be the posterchild of the Commonwealth, but he had some morals. He wished he was there; he would tear these fuckers apart, limb by limb.

Nora neared the car, and she placed her hands on the grill as she leaned down under the hood. She could see both men in her peripherals, standing at the truck now. They were maybe six feet away, and they were closing in. Nora reached into the car, pretending to tinker, but her hand fell onto her pistol. Gas Mask split away from Tall Guy, walking around the front of the car. 

_”She’ll pull in more caps if she’s clean. The boss will—“_

_“You sayin’ that you’re gonna pass on an opportunity to fuck that? This is a vault bitch. I bet that cunt is real fruckin’ sweet.”_

Hancock seethed, his fingers flexing into fists. If his skin hadn’t been completely destroyed his palms would be bloody. His knuckles would be white due to the strain. His breathing increased, his heart hammering in his chest, his blood rushing in his veins. Maybe this was what going Feral felt like. 

“Nora, baby, listen. You don’t let those fuckers get close to you. Take them out, then get outta there, you feel me?” he wanted to get the name of their boss. He’d wipe that sonnova bitch of the face of the earth. But Nora came first, he didn’t want to put her into any more trouble than she was already in. 

_”Yeah,”_ she whispered, her voice trembling and weak. He ached for her, wishing he was there to keep her safe during her time of need. _”I feel you.”_

_“Aw, lovely. That voice still bugging ya? I can give you something to make it go away. It’ll make you feel real good, baby. I promise._

Tall guy was drawing in closer; five feet, four, three. Gas Mask was nowhere to be seen, but Hancock could hear his footsteps near the front of the car. Tall Guy stepped in close beside Nora. He placed his shotgun down among the left over machinery in the car. A hand slid to Nora’s hip, gliding over the curve of her ass as an inhaler was procured. Had he been paying attention, he would have seen Nora’s posture go rigid, would have seen her hand tighten on her gun. 

Hancock saw red. He felt the hand ghost over him, rough and appreciative. He felt the hand grip Nora’s ass as if it were his own.

“Goddammit, Nora, what the fuck did I say?! WASTE THE FUCKER!”

_”DOG!”_

There was a snarl, and the sound of buckshot. Nora whirled, the butt of her pistol slamming into the man’s face. Tall Guy shrieked his surprise, staggering back. It gave her time to adjust her grip and take aim. The first shot went into the fucker’s right thigh. The pain was enough to get him to stagger. His leg gave out and he fell back onto his ass. Nora held her aim, leveling the barrel at his head as she took a couple of steps back. She caught sight of Gas Mask. The guy was on the ground, a furious canine latched onto his throat. With the other threat taken care of, Nora released a breath that she had been holding. 

“Shotgun, Nor. Grab his shotgun.”

She did. Her pistol was placed next to the Pip-Boy, and she picked up the shotgun. As Tall Guy started to kick himself backwards, Nora stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Just as Hancock was going to tell her to finish him, she took the weight of the gun into one hand, and lowered the barrel to the guy’s crotch. 

_”What’s your boss’ name?”_ her voice was icy, and frighteningly calm. Hancock’s eyes widened marginally – did she ask her to get the name? Had he been thinking out loud? Was it possible to read each other’s minds?

_”Fuck you, bitch!”_

_“What’s your boss’ name? You have three seconds before I shoot. One. Two—“_

Tall Guy’s leg moved, and Hancock yelled. It felt like the world around him had been kicked out from under him. He felt the rush of air as Nora’s feet were kicked out from under her. He felt the world around him lurch, and he felt himself falling – but he was still standing, still as a statue in the middle of his office. As Nora’s body dropped to the ground, the gun went off. The scream was so shrill that, for a terrifying second, Hancock thought that Nora had been hurt. As his woman struggled to right herself, as she shoved herself back and away from her assailant, Hancock caught a glimpse of the man as he curled into fetal position. 

Nora didn’t need to count to three. She shot Tall Guy in the dick, after all. Hancock couldn’t help the swell of pride he felt in his chest as Nora finished the job. Without awaiting further instruction, he watched as she started to root through the guy’s pockets. A smile lit his features as he sank to his knees. He had never felt so relieved in all his life.


	18. 059. Try Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically all dialogue.  
> Zero sorries.
> 
> To those of you who are ready for them to meet... Y'all still got a bit of a wait. 
> 
> But, ya know, weird ass soul bond is a thing. So. Don't count out interesting lemon times at some point.

059\. Try Again

It was Hancock’s company that helped Nora through the hours that followed her encounter with the two men. Though she didn’t need to be prompted to start searching bodies, his emotional support was what kept her from dropping into a full on freak out. She clung to him like a child with their security blanket as she dug through the bodies of her would-be assailants. Caps, a couple pieces of crumpled paper, and some shotgun shells came from the handsy one. The guy in the gas mask didn’t have much on him either, though he did have a holotape wedged in his pocket. Nora decided to give that a listen later. Once she gathered her prices, she returned to the truck to grab her back from the tailgate. She dropped everything inside, stacking what she pilfered from the car on top. There was no chance that she would be getting back to Sanctuary that evening, so she decided to hide out in the concession stand for the night. What fleeting thoughts she about sleeping in the back of the truck under the stars had been completely dashed… and stomped on… and then shot. And shot again. 

The front door of the concession stand was rigged with some sort of trap – a detail Nora would have completely missed if Hancock hadn’t been watching her every move. With his assistance, it was disarmed, and she was able to slip inside. She surveyed the area as she made her way to the back room. Once her sleeping quarters were secured, she sank to the floor in a heap, Dog coming to rest at her side. His muzzle was bloody, so were his front paws. She was glad that she met him when he was mostly clean, otherwise she would have assumed that he was some kind of feral beast. Nora reached out and scratched at his neck, and he leaned into her touch. His tongue rolled out of his mouth and he groaned. 

“You’re such a good boy,” she croaked. “You saved my butt again.”

Nora took a moment to serve the dog a bit of water. She poured half of the remaining contents of her water bottle into an old tin can that she had rattling around in her pack. Once the mutt was satisfied, she tried rubbing some of the blood from his muzzle. It was a futile attempt. As she doted on Dog, the tension in her muscles began to drain. As she gradually relaxed, she let her hold on the connection to John slip. Her teeth began to chatter, her body trembling as her own nerves and emotions came rushing back at her. Nora wound herself into a ball, her legs tucked up into her chest. 

“John?”

_”I’m here, doll.”_

Now was a good a time as any. 

“I’m sorry.”

_”Nora…”_

“No, you were right. You were completely right,” she murmured, swallowing around a lump in her throat. “I have been absolutely terrible to you, and I am so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of it – and even when you were being treated so terribly, you were still so willing to help me. I’m sorry, John. I am so sorry.” The longer she spoke, the weaker her voice became. Tears started to stream down her cheeks, and she started to sniffle. “I was so angry, and it was so easy to direct it at the person who took Nate’s spot – but if it wasn’t for you, I would be dead. Y—“ she pressed her eyes into her knees, and took a heaving breath. “You were given to me when I needed you most, and I punished you for it.”

_”It’s okay—“_

“But it’s not! It’s really not. And today… I accused you of—“

_”You were right, though. I’ve, uh, deliberately withheld information. Lying by omission, as you so eloquently pointed out.”_

Nora managed a weak chuckle. “I’ve been withholding, too,” she lifted her head. “But I was accusing you of being like… them.”

Hancock sighed softly, _”I ain’t like those two assholes, but… Nora, I ain’t a good guy, either.”_

Nora shook her head, stretching out her legs as her emotions found their equilibrium. “You’re a product of the world you’re living in, John. That doesn’t make you a bad person, it… it makes you a survivor.”

_”Shit, doll. You been sneakin’ into my mentats stash?”_

Nora licked her lips. She didn’t know what mentats were, and she didn’t bother asking. “Can we try this again? Like, can we get a do-over?” She hesitantly reached out towards John, allowing his perspective to swim into her vision. She got a view of a dark vaulted ceiling. He was stretched out, and he felt comfortable. “Where are you?”

_”Bedroom. Stretching out on the floor of my office has proven to be quite hazardous. If you wanna start over, I wouldn’t mind that. Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”_

Nora felt a surge of happiness, and she couldn’t help but smile. Despite the way she treated him, he was willing to give her another chance, and she didn’t know how she would ever thank him. This didn’t make the loss of her husband any less gut wrenching, but it removed the weight that had settled in her chest. This was how things should have gone the first time, but she was too hurt, too angry. Leaving her room for the night, Nora navigated her way to the bathroom. She was pleasantly surprised to find a mostly intact toilet, a sink, and an old medicine cabinet. The mirror was broken, but she was still able to see her reflection. Seeing it made her grimace. Her hair was a mess, unkempt and unstyled, falling wildly about her shoulders and her arms. Her cheeks were puffy, her nose was red. After everything that she had gone through, she half expected to be a shell of the woman that she had used to be – but there she was. Same Nora. Just a little dirty, and a little disheveled. 

_”Fuck, yer beautiful,”_ came the rasping sigh. Nora looked away, smiling to herself as she diverted her gaze to the old sink. 

“Do you have a mirror?”

_”Yep.”_

Nora scoffed, “Do I get to see you? I’d like to start this do-over with a proper introduction.”

Nora felt John shift, felt him roll over, and then he sighed heavily. The rustling of material reached her ears. She caught a fleeting glimpse of something red. 

_”Honey, I can tell you that I’m outta yer league.”_

“It’s not about that. It’s about introducing ourselves,” she insisted. She suddenly felt like the idea was quite silly, but short of meeting face-to-face, this was the next best thing. 

_”I’m a ghoul.”_

Nora’s brows furrowed, until she remembered seeing the men in his office. The men had looked terribly damaged, maybe even burnt. They were missing their noses, and had strange eyes. Too much radiation, John had said. Nora’s eyebrows lifted into her hairline. That explained why she had never seen John’s hands. She didn’t look in on John too often, and she never sat around and watched what he was doing. She gave the man a fair heads up, maybe that was why he was always looking up, and away. The most of him that she had seen were his pants, and his boots. 

“If you’re not up to it, it’s fine,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. She looked back into the mirror, meeting her own gaze. His breath hitched softly as she worried her lower lip. 

_“I just wanna remind you, that I gave ya fair warning.”_

She focused on him, watching as he walked around the edge of an old bed. Nora closed her eyes, preparing herself. When she opened them, she was treated to the familiar boots and pants. His gaze slowly worked up the mirror. The ends of a long red coat, a sash tied around his waist, a shock of blue and gold, and then the neck of a ruffled shirt. The neck of the shirt dipped low, exposing damaged and mottled skin, and then there was his face. Just like the men she had seen before, he was missing his nose, his eyes were a startling yet bewitching black. There was an ancient tricorn hat resting on the top of his head. 

Nora squinted, giving him a slow once over. Had she come across a ghoul on her own, she would have likely been quite startled – but that wasn’t what was bugging her. She looked him over again. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Are those John Hancock’s clothes?”

A grin lit the man’s ruined features and he managed to look quite rakish despite all the facial damage. He released a rasping laugh. 

Nora frowned, her eyes squinting even further, “Is your name even John?”

He laughed for a moment more, nodding. _“I promise. My name is John.”_

“John…?”

_“Nora…?”_

“Morrison.”

That same smile; lazy and somewhat slanted, and rakish. _“Hancock.”_

Nora stepped towards the mirror, placing her hands on the sink, “Oh, come on!” 

He shook his head, then reached up to adjust his hat. Even his hands looked wrong. Nora wondered if the condition hurt. _“My real name is John McDonough,”_ he drawled. _“Since I acquired this geddup, I’ve gone by Hancock. That’s… kinda what I prefer.”_

“Okay, Hancock—“

 _“I thought I said_ you _could call me John.”_

“John,” she repeated, a smile tugging at her features as she peered into the mirror. John’s reflection stared back at her. “It’s nice to meet you, John.”

The cocky smile dimmed, and then it softened. His eyes met hers through the mirror. _“It’s nice to meet you, too, Nora.”_


	19. 060. Reap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hancock gets a little similar to _After Nora_ Hancock.   
>  No sorries, again.

060\. Reap

 

The two spoke long into the night. After talking to one another in the mirror for a handful of minutes, they went their separate ways. Even though the connection was maintained, there was an almost awkward goodbye through the mirror. Nora had raised her hand, waved, and Hancock had bid her goodnight, only for both of them to carry on their conversation as they went about their evening routine. John shrugged out of his clothes and crawled into his bed, tugging the covers up over him. With his head on his pillows, he closed his eyes and relaxed. Talking to Nora calmed him, it eased him more than any amount of chems ever could. The only way it could be better would be if she was in bed beside him. Just her presence would be enough. He imagined her curled up beside him, her hair strewn among the pillows, smiling at him with sleepy eyes. Hancock found himself rolling to his side so he could face the direction that Imaginary Nora was resting. When he closed her eyes and listened to Nora talk, the fantasy was so believable. 

He listened as Nora told him about the vault. Her already tragic story got so much worse. That was par for the course for most vault residences. It was no secret at this point that the vaults had been used to run demented little experiments. The poor shmucks that were fortunate enough to call themselves a vault resident when the bombs dropped had been turned into some asshole’s personal lab rats. Nora and her family were no different. They were used to test the viability of cryogenics. Nora had watched from her own personal prison as some fucker came into the vault, took her boy, and killed her husband. As she spoke, her voice got tight and airy. He didn’t have to be emotionally linked to know that she was crying. Had she been in the bed next to him, he would have pulled her in close and held her as she wept. 

_”I have to find my boy, John,”_ she whispered brokenly. _”He could have been taken 100 years ago, for all I know. But I have to try.”_

“I’ll help you.”

_I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t even know where to start.”_

“I do,” he murmured. “I can come get you, and we can tackle this thing in together.”

There was a lengthy silence before she changed the subject. She asked about him, about his life, and he told her everything. He told her about his life with his brother in Diamond City, about how he sided with the ghouls when they were ostracized and kicked out into the wasteland. He told her about how he ended up going ghoul himself, and then he told her about how he became Mayor of Goodneighbor and Vic’s violent end. He told her about his addictions, as well as his status as the Commonwealth’s drug lord. He told her everything, and she listened. He waited for judgement, and it came with a gentle sigh, so soft and quiet heard it, _”You’ve been through so much…”_

“I warned ya. I’m not exactly a Boy Scout…”

In a gentle voice, she told him about how she had been a lawyer. She had worked to put people like Vic behind bars. Though she only specified Vic, Hancock knew he would have been one of those people being placed in jail, too. Nora probably would have been the one to throw away the key. She continued, though, telling him about the very stark difference between the world that she had lived in, and the world that was left behind after the bombs dropped. 

_”I’m not going to condemn you for fighting for your survival, John. I don’t necessarily support your Kingpin status, but…”_

Hancock snorted, a smile gracing his lips. “I’m a damn good drug lord, though,” he said. “That might have been my calling if I was around before the bombs dropped.”

Nora seemed unconvinced, _”I dunno. I think you could have been a politician. You have the charisma for it, anyway.”_

“Hancock for President.”

_”Someone is ambitious.”_

They laughed and talked until, eventually, Nora drifted to sleep. When their connection severed, and Hancock was alone, he slowly opened his eyes. His fantasy was broken. The bed beside him was painfully empty. He told himself that a great deal of progress had been made, that he should be happy that they were talking at all – especially after what she had seen. When that did nothing to quell the hurt he felt at the sight of the empty bed, he told himself that if she had been there with him, they most definitely wouldn’t be in bed together. The woman had just lost her husband a couple of weeks ago. She wasn’t ready for a relationship, and she definitely wasn’t ready for a relationship with a ghoul. That didn’t work either, though. Instead, he found himself thinking about how he would coax her into his arms if she was in the bed next to him. 

It would start slow. He would brush his fingers over the back of her hand, he would trace the lines of her palm, and he would caress her pulse point on the inside of her wrist. Slowly, he would help her get accustomed the roughness of his skin. He would idly toy with her fingers, before eventually dragging his palm up along the length of her arm until it met the curve of her shoulder. He would drag his nails along her upper back. She would be closer, then. Maybe her feet would be brushing against his calves as she gave into her own curiosity and started to touch him and explore. Hancock’s breath left him as he imagined trailing his fingertips down the length of her spine. She would sigh, scoot closer as he started rubbing soft circles into the tense muscles in her back. That’s when she would tuck up against her chest, her hair tickling his neck. They would be happy, and warm, and safe. As Hancock drifted off to sleep, he imagined his Nora there beside him, whispering goodnight against the destroyed skin that covered his chest. 

 

-

 

The next morning, Hancock woke up without a hangover. It had been the first time in many, many days that he hadn’t drank and smoked himself into oblivion, and waking up headache free was sort of a novel occurrence. He glanced down at the pillow that was tucked under his arm then tossed it towards Nora’s side of the bed. After a moment where he allowed himself to wallow in disappointment, Hancock got up, got dressed, and readied himself to face the day. He went out down stairs and greeted some of the Goodneighbor residence that were already milling around. Breakfast was served a la Whitechapel Charlie; mirelurk cakes with some kind of breakfast hash. The robot served it up without comment, squirting a pink sauce on the corner of his plate before returning to his duties while Hancock started to eat. 

_”That. Tastes. Amazing.”_

Hancock’s smile was instantaneous. He finished chewing and then swallowed. A quick glance around the bar let him know that he was mostly alone. The people that were loitering around the bar were either passed out, or too fucked up to really pay him much attention. 

“Goodmorning, sunshine.”

_”What is that? It tastes like crab, almost…”_

“Mirelurk cake. Charlie here is famous for them.”

_”What’s the sauce?”_

“Dunno. Never asked. It’s damn good, though.”

A soft, wistful sigh, _“Yeah it is.”_

He chuckled, “You want another bite?”

_”No. You’ve already put my canned peaches to shame. I’m sure you have some mayoral duties to get to, and I won’t keep you from your breakfast. I was just curious if you knew anyone named Cecil.”_

He used his fork to cut up the mirelurk cake, dragging it through the sauce on his plate before scooping up the hash. Cecil. Cecil, Cecil, Cecil. He took his bite and chewed on his thoughts. He was nearly completely sure that he didn’t know anyone by that name, but he couldn’t necessarily vouch for all of the times that he had been blackout drunk. “Nah, that name ain’t ringin’ any bells. Why?”

_”I listened to the holotape that I found yesterday. It’s some guy named Cecil giving out orders to pick up more uh… merchandise. I was just wondering if you had heard of him.”_

“Nah, honey. I ain’t heard of him. Don’t mean I can’t keep an ear to the ground, though.” He reached for a drink blindly, only to pick up absolutely nothing. He gestured towards Charlie, a grand sort of ‘what the hell’ gesture. Whitecharlie made a gesture back at him, one of limbs moving in a manner that somehow came across as quite rude. “You might not like what I do if I find him, honey.”

_”I want him stopped. Who knows how many people he’s hurt.”_

“Alright, Doll face. I’ll ask around.”

Nora bid him a good day before leaving him to his breakfast. Hancock finished his breakfast in record time, chasing the meal with a shot of whiskey. He went back upstairs to find Fahrenheit. He had yet to hear anything from the crew he sent to check out Jenson’s place, and he didn’t want to keep sending folks out on random errands, but Cecil needed to be stopped. Human trafficking was on Hancock’s list of no-no’s, and it just so happened that Cecil’s crew fucked with his girl. 

He was gonna get Cecil’s head on a fucking pike.


	20. 078. Stormy

078\. Stormy

After her night at the drive-in, Nora continued her wandering. There was no goal, no destination. Nora enjoyed the purposelessness of her travels. After graduating from high school, she had wanted to see the world. It had been a grand plan; shoving what necessities she could into a backpack and hiking through some foreign country. That’s all it had been, though; a plan, an idea, a dream. Instead of traveling she went to college, to law school. She met Nate, got married, had a kid. And she was happy. Her life had been nearly perfect. There had been days where she completely forgot about her desires to see the world and its various cultures, and then there were other days, when she was up to her elbows in paperwork, where traveling had been all she could think about. She had responsibilities to tend to, though. Dropping everything to go travel was unrealistic, and irresponsible. 

Trekking through the Commonwealth was her chance, she supposed. It was a different world, a different culture. What necessities she could find were in a backpack, and she was walking, traveling. She wasn’t traveling with her cohorts, but Dog was good company. He was a loyal mutt, never lingering too far from her side. He always stayed in sight, traveling with her even when he wasn’t right at her side. It was a nice day, quiet, and as the hours ticked on, Nora was absolutely delighted to acknowledge that the day had been wildly uneventful. 

At least, it had been. 

The first distant roll of thunder had her hair standing on end, and when she turned her attention to the skies she cringed. The entirety of the sky behind her was covered in a blanket of thick, dark clouds. There wasn’t any particular place to take shelter, and with that lack of protection, all Nora could do was pick up her pace, and keep moving. As her anxiety surfaced, as her pace picked up to a near jog, the dog trotted on beside her, completely carefree. She wondered how he had made it through the storms in the past, she wondered who is previous owner was. Mulling over Dog’s origins helped keep her thoughts occupied so she wasn’t focused on the impeding shit-storm that was coming her way. 

No matter how fast she moved, the storm managed to get closer. The thunder exploded, taunting her as she shifted to a steady run. Her Geiger counter clicked once, twice. Her general awareness of her surrounding diminished as she ran. She no longer kept her gun at the ready, she no longer took sweeping gazes around her surroundings. She could have run right by a whole group of raiders, and she would have had no idea. She was focused on finding shelter. 

So when the shrill whistle reached her ears, she tripped on her own feet and reached for her gun. She pivoted, searching for the source – there was an old pool in the not-so-far-off distance, still filled with water. There was a pool house, ancient but still standing. There was a handful of people milling about, ignoring the incoming storm, but there was a lone person standing a little ways off to the side, their arms in the air, waving to catch her attention. Nora stilled, even as her Geiger counter began to click, she stood and weighed her options. Another whistle, somehow louder than the last… and then Dog was trotting towards the man, carefree and bushytailed. 

With no other options on the table, Nora decided to trust Dog’s judgement. She ran after the dog, her legs feeling achy and heavy, and her lungs burning. The air around her tasted sour, it smelled like ozone, and the world lit in a shock of green. 

She decided to take a chance. Either the people would kill her, or the radstorm would. Dog didn’t seem put off by the person, though. In fact, the dog ran right to the man’s side, and sat – waiting for Nora to arrive. By the time she reached them, she was coated in a thin layer of rain, her Pip-Boy continuously clicking at nice even pace. When the thunder exploded and the lightning flash the clicking increased before returning to its slow and steady pace. Like a metronome. 

As Nora drew closer, she recognized the man as another ghoul. It was a little surreal seeing one in person. Though the damage that had been done to the man was similar to John – no nose, odd ears, strange eyes, warped skin – he also managed to look so incredibly different. The ruined skin was a different color, eyes shaped a bit differently. There were basic things, too, bone structure and body type. 

“You aren’t gonna find a place before this storm lets loose!” The man called over the sound of rain and increasing wind. “You got the supplies you need?”

“I-I don’t—“

That seemed to be all that needed to be said. He gestured for her to follow him, and he left no room for argument as he turned and breached the fence line. Dog, the traitor, trotted right along with him. Nora followed, a little hesitant and still out of breath. She followed the ghoul into the pool house, accepting her incoming fate. The man went to a cabinet on the far side of the room, and then he turned to her, a pill in his hand. 

“Rad-X,” he rasped, holding the pill out to her expectantly, he even showed her the bottle. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, plucking the pill from his hand. Her fingertips brushed his palm, it was rough. A quick once over showed the careful construction of muscle groups, the textures of the fibers that helped his hand move. She was almost positive that she could see the muscle contract.

“You got water?”

“Yeah,” she said on a nod, already slinging her pack from her shoulder. As she struggled to find her water bottle, the man walked by her. 

“I’ll getcha a towel so you can dry up.”

Nora watched him go. “Thank you.”

The second he was on the other side of the room, Nora focused and reached, “John?”

Though she was willing to accept whatever help she could, she wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of accepting a miscellaneous pill from a total stranger. It was nondescript, with no etchings or symbols on the pill itself. It was white, cylindrical in shape. 

_”What’s goin’ on-“_ a crash of thunder made his voice falter, and he swore loudly. _”Are you in another radstorm?”_

Nora focused on the pill in her hand, keeping her voice low, “What is this?”

There wasn’t even a second of contemplation before he answered, _“Rad-X. Helps ya withstand rads a bit better....”_

Nora sighed softly, relieved, and then popped the pill in her mouth, chasing it with a quick swig of water. When she heard footsteps approaching she lifted her head, seeing the same ghoul that had flagged her down. There was a threadbare towel in his hand that looked delightfully dry. 

“Here.” He passed her the towel. 

_”Who the fuck is that?”_

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, drying off her face before toweling at her hair. “Really, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t flagged me down.”

“It was no problem,” the man rasped, smiling gently. “You didn’t look like you would have made it for much longer.”

_”Nora, if you wanted to hang out with a ghoul, all ya had t’do was say so…”_

She tried to ignore John, but it was getting increasingly difficult as his jealously seeped over the bond towards her. “I don’t think I would have, to be honest. Thank you for the Rad-X. I’ll pay you for it—“

“Don’t worry about it,” he said on a shrug. “Don’t have much of a need for it here. Rad storms don’t do much to us ghouls. It looks like the storm is gonna be hanging around for a bit. You’re more than welcome to stay for the evening.”

Nora smiled, “Thank you. Really. I’m Nora…” she held out her hand, and the ghoul accepted it. His grasp was gentle, and kind, and she could feel all of the muscles in his hand bunching and tightening. 

“Wiseman.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Over the bond, as the jealousy increased and the anger spiked, John growled irritably. Nora sighed, pushing her sense of ease towards him over the bond, but it didn’t seem to work. Wiseman released her hand, turning and gesturing to another ghoul that had just stepped into the building. It was another male, wearing an old flannel shirt. 

“Jones, this is Nora. She’s gonna stay for the evening. Mind setting her up with a bed?”

The ghoul smiled softly. Nora didn’t miss the quick once over the man gave her, but it wasn’t intimidating. It wasn’t salacious. It was curiosity, and not much else. “Of course.”

Hancock didn’t seem to share her opinion, she felt his anger spike. Nora sighed internally. She was going to have a talk with him later.


	21. 070. Temperamental

070\. Temperamental

The day had been spent drifting in and out of various meetings. He met with a few members of the Neighborhood Watch and Fahrenheit, discussing the skin-trader known as Cecil. Unfortunately, the guy was illusive. None of his guys had heard of him, and neither had Fahrenheit. It put a bit of a damper on his mood - and his day had started so well. There was no sense in sending out a couple of his guys to wander aimlessly to find the asshole, and he accepted the fact that he was going to end up coughing up caps to get any information. The majority of the crew left, and Fahrenheit discussed poor Jenson, with his maybe-dead family, and his missing fingers. Outside of being a bit jumpy, Jensen was doing just fine. He wanted to leave Goodneighbor, but he remained compliant. There was no need to threaten the guy, he was already scared out of his wits, and he seemed more than willing to stay and wait for word on his family. 

"His family is fine. No signs of Bobbi, though," Fahrenheit droned, tossing a scrap of paper onto the coffee table. Hancock snagged the note and frowned at the writing. 

"I hate that fucking bitch," he said bitterly, crumpling the note in his hand, then tossing it to the side. 

The next order of business was with a couple of trading caravans that occasionally made their way through the area. Occasionally, being the functioning word. The schedule was unreliable at best, and the traders claimed it was due to the mutants in the area. They weren't going to risk their lives trying to get to Goodneighbor if the road proved too hazardous. He wanted to tell them to stop being so damn cheap, and hire some help that was actually worth a damn, but that was none of his business. He knew a guy that could sit on a roof and take potshots and mutants all damn day. He promised the traders that he would get the mutant problem resolved, so long as they made a promise to follow a schedule. Goodneighbor wasn't self sustaining, unfortunately. There was too much asphalt for any sort of gardening, and they needed produce, and meat, and Daisy relied on the traders to shuffle her stock. So did K-L-E0. Goodneighbor needed the trading caravans to properly function, and he would do what he needed to keep things running. MacCready owed him one, anyway. 

Hancock made it a point to go and visit Jenson, the crumpled note in his hand. The poor smoothskin was awfully skittish when Hancock had entered his room - enough so, that the guy tucked himself into the corner of the room, hiding his hand behind his back. Hancock informed Jenson about his family, tossing the note across the room at him. It bounced off of Jenson's chest, then dropped to the ground. Though he wouldn't apologize for removing the guy's digits - Hancock had warned him, after all - he did want to clear the air a bit. 

"Easy, brother. You stabbed me. You got what was comin' to ya."

Jenson made no reply. 

"If you woulda come to me, and gave me the skinny on the mess you were in, I woulda been more than happy to help. In fact, I got my guys bringin' yer family here right now."

That bit of information changed ol' Jenson's tune. Skittishness turned into bewildered and hesitant joy. Hancock left on the high note, and eventually made his way to Third Rail to talk with MacCready. That was the day, wandering around and talking. A whole lot of talking and not enough drinking. He had been half-assing his duties, though, and it was high time that he got some shit done. 

It was early in the evening when Nora whispered his name. Her voice barely making it over the noise of his footsteps as he climbed the stairs of Third Rail. He had just finished eating, and he would have typically settled on one of of the couches and popped a mentats or a hit of jet, but he was fresh out. He opted to make a run to his office, since he knew he had at least one tin of grape mentats running around somewhere. 

Hancock stopped on the stairs, gazing in front of him as the image of a plain white pill filled his vision. There was thunder in the background, rain, and wind, but she had asked him about the pill. There was no question in his mind as to what it was. He knew his drugs better than any pharmacist did. The soft sigh of relief that Nora released made him curious, and he watched as she tossed the pill back. He felt the pill hit the back of his own throat. 

For just a moment, he entertained the possibility of being high through his Nora, and vice versa, but that train of thought exploded when another ghoul swam into his vision, offering an old threadbare towel that Nora used to dry herself off. 

The jealousy was instantaneous. Even while he tried to convince himself that he was being absolutely ridiculous - he had just told himself the night before that Nora wasn't ready for a relationship, and here he was getting jealous about another ghoul - but that did nothing to quell his anger. 

Get yer own smoothskin, he wanted to say. This one is mine. 

He stomped his way up the rest of the stairs, ignoring Ham's curious gaze as he made his way to his office for a bit of privacy. He didn't have to say anything to get Nora to seek some privacy. After popping the pill, and getting her things situated in her designated sleeping area, she tucked herself into a quiet corner.

_"Will you calm down, please?"_

"Calm down? Nora, sweets, yer in another radstorm, accepting pills from strangers," he growled, letting the door to State House slam behind him. "What do you think yer doin'?"

 _"I was talking about how jealous you were. Over nothing, I might add."_ Well, she certainly didn't skirt around things. The woman dove straight into the root of the problem, and Hancock didn't know whether to be irritated or impressed. _"And it's not exactly like I know what the weather is going to be, John. I can't just sit around because I am afraid of what the weather might do."_

"If you'd just get yer ass down here, I wouldn't be such a worry wart, ya know," he drawled, trying to alleviate some of the tension that had built between them. "Or you can at least tell me where you are. Don't mean t'sound like a broken record, but I can come to you."

_"John-"_

_"Hey, lady,"_ it was a rasping voice that called to her, feminine but ghoulish. _"Wiseman wanted to know if you were hungry. We just started making supper."_

Nora's gaze shifted, and he caught sight of the lady ghoul who spoke. Somehow, the woman was quite shapely, sporting a full head of thick, grey hair. 

_"Oh, no thank you. I don't want to impose more than I already am."_

_"I'll tell him to make enough for one more. I'll come get you when it's finished,"_ the ghoul made a show of smiling, winking, and then she turned and left with a rather sensuous swish of her hips.

 _"So you aren't jealous when it's a woman who is hitting on me,"_ she drawled. 

"Mad? Shit, I'd watch that..."

Nora made no comment, but he could feel the barest hint of her amusement. His irritation eased, but he still couldn't understand why she wouldn't let him help her. It wasn't like he was going to throw himself at her the second he saw her. He could be respectful and understanding of her situation. He wouldn't pressure her into anything, he could help if she would only just let him. 

"Where are you?"

_"John, please..."_

His fingers squeezed at the bridge of his nose, eyes closing tightly as a surge of irritation threatened to take over. "I won't come and get you, I will stay away so you can figure yourself out. Just tell me where you fucking are in case something happens! Do you know how worried I was when you had rad sickness? You were pukin' in the middle of the street, Nora. What if someone found you-"

_"No one did-"_

"But someone could have, Nora! Now yer out accepting pills from fucking strangers. You can't be so trusting-"

_"That's why I called you, John."_

"Yeah, but when would you have said somethin' about the shitstorm you were in, huh?"

_"There wouldn't have been anything you could do. I wouldn't want to worry you about-"_

"Don't want to worry me? Then come home, dammit! I worry about you every second you aren't fucking here, don't you get that?"

There was a pause between them, and he reached across their bond to feel her. She was upset, but not at him. Maybe his words struck a chord. Finally. They had talked the previous night, getting to know one another, but every attempt he had made to convince her that she should let him help were dashed or ignored. 

Hancock watched as Nora's gaze shifted, and he saw her Pip-Boy. He watched, transfixed, as her delicate fingers worked over the device. She cranked a couple of knobs with her thumb, sifting through screens of notes, and then there was a map. There was a couple of existing icons, scattered across the upper portion of the graphic.

She jabbed at one of the icons with her index finger. _"That's the vault. This is Sanctuary - where Preston is."_ Hancock scrambled to hunt down a piece of paper and a pencil as fast as he could. Thankfully, he had made it to his office, and there were plenty of supplies laying around. He would commit this to memory. If she was giving him information he had been practically begging for, he was going to remember every detail. _"The truck stop I was staying at. This is the Starlight drive-in. That's where I was last night."_ another dial was tweaked, the map shifted and zoomed in. He watched as she took the necessary steps to create a new icon.

Hancock marveled at the detail on the map. He had seen some rough sketches of the area before, and there had been some maps that existed from before the bombs, but the device even gave an indication of where she was in relation to these landmarks. That Pip-Boy was one hell of a tool to have. 

_"And this is where I am now."_

"Thank you, sweets. Really." He scribbled down the location, roughly sketching out the shape of the map, and putting a marker on her general location.

 _"Want to know how many caps I have, too?"_ it was her turn to be irritated, it seemed. 

"Can we not argue again, please? You can't blame me for worrying."

She seemed to deflate, idly flipping through her Pip-Boy now. _"I have 103 caps,"_ she grumbled half heartedly. 

"Whoa there, money bags," Hancock gently teased. "I might let you buy me dinner and a drink with that sort'a money."

_"I'm sorry. Things were going alright today, and it all just fell apart with the storm. I'm glad Wiseman saw me, I don't know what would have happened, otherwise."_

He managed to find his stash of grape mentats. He slipped one of the chalky tablets under his tongue. The tin was tucked into his pocket as he left his office and went to his room. 

"Look at me," he rasped as he stopped in front of the mirror. He stepped in close, so she could look him in the eye whenever she decided to join him. "Promise me that you'll watch yourself with these people." 

_"I prom-"_

_"Hey, smoothskin! Dinner is ready!"_ Nora started to get to her feet, leaving her things tucked in the corner. 

"Nora."

She grasped one of her hands, squeezing tightly - and he felt it, the softness of her skin touching him, grasping. Hancock's gaze dropped to his hands, absolutely dumbfounded that he couldn't see anything touching him - but he could feel it, as if she was there in person. The soft pad of one of her fingers stroked over the back of his hand, and he closed his eyes to revel in the feeling.

_"I promise."_


	22. 063. Notice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Handsome Johnny Roselli was an actual mobster in Chicago. I liked the name. So I took it. 
> 
> Also, character canon divergence because I can.

063\. Notice

They called it The Slog, and Nora found herself liking the place not long after arriving. They were a welcoming bunch, inviting her to congregate in the common area to share their supper with her. Though a bit hesitant at first, she very quickly found herself relaxing and letting her guard down. She sat on the ground next to a female ghoul named Deirdre. The gathering was strangely domestic, and Nora would be damned if she said she wasn’t comfortable.

For the past several days, Nora had been running on meals that had little to no nutritional value. Old canned food, and snack cakes, mainly. The meal that she had been served was savory, thick, with vegetables and meat. Nora was slack-jawed with pure awe when they passed her a chunk of bread. The people of the Slog gave her their food without a question, they gave it to her without asking for anything in return. There was no Marcy Long, demanding that she get her lazy butt up and provide the settlement with a sufficient water supply, and there was no Preston Garvey griping at her to take over some organization that was on its last legs. The amenities were given to Nora out of kindness, and after dealing with all of the hurt, and selfishness of the Commonwealth, she couldn’t stop herself from quietly crying into her meal. 

No one brought attention to her hears as she ate, and yet they somehow didn’t exclude her from their conversations. They talked about things – old world things. Things that Nora never thought she would hear mentioned ever again. It was heartbreaking as much as it was uplifting. As she sat quietly, her empty bowl in her lap, and her stomach full for the first time in days, Nora gathered her courage. The more they talked about the old days, the more her curiosity grew. After she stopped crying, she gently cleared her throat to speak. 

“So, you were all there? Before the bombs dropped?”

The ghoul Nora knew as Jones quirked a small smile in her direction, “We’re what some of you smoothskins call ‘Pre-War’ ghouls.”

Nora tilted her head curiously. She rolled the information around in her head for just a moment, scooping up some of the remnants of the stew that was left in her bowl with her index finger. She offered the digit to Dog, who licked it up greedily. “Pre-War? What vault did you belong to?”

There was a scoff, a snort.

“Sorry,” she grimaced. “I, uh, just got out a vault recently.” She gestured to her vault suit, her Pip Boy. “I’m… still trying to figure things out.”

“Got tired of being a lab rat, huh?” The woman from earlier chuckled. 

Nora sighed softly, “You could say that.”

“To put it simply,” Wiseman rasped, “We weren’t unfortunate enough to get into a vault, but we were unfortunate enough to live through the bombing.”

Nora’s eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth, because her jaw practically came unhinged. That sounded horrible – living through the bombs, watching as the world around them was decimated, and then witnessing the change in their bodies, as it happened. It must have been terrifying. Nora couldn’t even imagine some of the things these people had seen. 

“So, Vault 111,” Deirdre said from beside her, a finger gently tapping against her upper back. “What experiments did they put you through there?”

When Nora shook her head, no one pressed her for more information, and she was thankful for that. The evening wound down, and despite Nora’s offer to clean up after such a wonderful meal, she was sent off to relax and get some sleep. Wiseman gave her the bottle of Rad-X, in case the storm continued on through the night and she needed some more. Nora nodded, feeling full, and tired, and strangely content as she settled in. 

-

It was a gentle hand on her shoulder that woke her, immediately followed by the persistent wining of Dog. She was breathing heavily, gasping for air. She was sweating and her cheeks were wet with tears (would she ever stop crying? She had to run out of tears, at some point). One of the ghouls was beside her, his brows lined with worry. 

His hand found hers, and he gave it a gentle tug, silently indicated that she wanted her to follow him. Abandoning all of her things near the bedroll that they had given her, Nora followed him. She used the light of the Pip-Boy to navigate through the resting bodies. The green light that was cast made their features look more mottled, rough. They looked like corpses, and part of Nora wondered if she had fallen asleep in a morgue. She followed the ghoul outside, towards the pool, and then around the side of the building to another portion of the building that had been converted into some sort of work space. 

“You were having a nightmare,” the man rasped, his voice was thin, graveled.. He shifted around his space for a handful of moments, placing an old kettle on a hotplate. 

Nora rubbed her arms, trying to generate a bit of heat in the cool evening air, “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“I don’t get much sleep these days,” the man said, offering a gentle smile. He touched the back of his hand to the kettle after a handful of quiet moments, and then removed it from the hotplate. He poured the heated water into a couple of old tin camping cups. The smell of chamomile drifted across her senses, and Nora found herself drawing in a lengthy inhale to commit the smell to memory – and then one of the cups was held out to her. She accepted it, and they clinked cups before he they each took a drink. 

Nora sipped, and sighed. She had never been one for chamomile, but she would take any old world comfort that she could. The taste brought back memories of her grandparents’ house, of the long days, and hot summer evenings. Nora sank back, letting the taste coat her tongue as she inhaled deeply. When she finally swallowed, she peered up at the man curiously. 

“I don’t think I got your name earlier,” she said apologetically. 

“I’m Arlen Glass,” he held out his right hand, and Nora reached to take it, her tea clasped in her left hand. 

Arlen Glass. Nora knew that name. Her eyes lit up, her hand still holding his, “Arlen Glass? The Arlen Glass? The toy designer?”

He smiled softly, setting his tea aside so he could clasp his freehand over the top of their joined hands, “And you’re Eleanor Morrison, Prosecuting Attorney.”

Nora was sure her eyes bugged out of her skull as she stared at the old ghoul, with his evening tea, and his kind smile. Before she could ask how he knew who she was, he released her hand, and faced his workbench. Wayward pieces of Giddyup Buttercup were scattered about, a total mess to the untrained eye, but Nora was more than positive that there was a method to his madness. He procured an ancient Boston Bugle. 

The headline nearly took up the whole upper half of the first page:

**Handsome Johnny Roselli’s Verdict: GUILTY**

Under the headline was an image of the man, wearing handcuffs, looking as though he was in the middle of swearing at whoever was taking the picture. Further into the article was a picture of her, standing in front of the court house, addressing the press after a particularly lengthy trial. At her side was a man in a long coat and hat, his hands tucked in his pockets. Nora glanced at the small blurb beneath the image.

 _Eleanor Morrison and Detective Nick Valentine after court proceedings._

Her gaze lifted to Arlen. The man was watching her, idly sipping at his cup of tea. 

“How did you…” she looked down at the paper in her hands yet again. “How could you even remember…”

Arlen Glass gave her another smile, then gestured to a crate tucked under the workbench. It was filled with old Boston Bugle newspapers. “I read the paper every day,” he said wistfully, knowingly, “I’ve seen your picture more than a few times, young lady.” 

At that point, Nora didn’t bother denying it. Her immediate response had revealed enough. 

“Eleanor,” Arlen murmured, calling her from her rampant thoughts. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you, Arlen.”

“Now,” he murmured, turning his attention to the disassembled toy. “You should get back to bed. That is, unless you want to help…”

She stood, stepping up to the workbench, standing shoulder to shoulder with the old ghoul and he immediately passed her an old wired brush and a few gears. It was better than falling back into nightmares, and who was she to pass up an opportunity to work side-by-side with the legendary toy designer.


	23. 004. Cheat

004\. Cheat

If there had been anything that Hancock had managed to learn while being crushed under Vic’s thumb, it was that anything could be bought at the right price. Sex, drugs, muscle – everything was for sale, so long as ya had the caps. Information was very easily bought. There were self-declared information brokers littering the Commonwealth; people who were more than willing to sell secrets. It was just a matter of tracking them down. Hancock knew enough shady assholes that the search wasn’t particularly difficult or lengthy. All it took was an offhanded comment, and in-passing conversation that was overheard by the right person. A day later, Hancock was arranging a meeting with some sort of middleman. They hashed out details. The meeting wouldn’t be in Goodneighbor, but some place low key, and abandoned. Some little diner near the bay was selected. Everything else fell into place, all Hancock had to do was wait. 

After two full days of waiting, and half of a day to travel to the little abandoned diner, Hancock was more than ready to cut any number of deals. The information broker arrived right as the sun started to set. He stepped into the darkening building in a swirl of dark clothing that was more than likely supposed to make him look mysterious. To light the space, the man pulled candles out of the pockets of his long coat and lit them – and that took the guy from mysterious to strange real quick. Hancock decided to kick the meeting off with a drink. He reached into his pocket to procure an old flask, and he was more than surprised when the broker did the same. They clinked flasks, took their drinks, and got down to business. 

“What is it that you’re looking for,” the man said, very obviously pitching his voice to a lower octave. “My associate said you were… on the market.”

Hancock followed up his drink with a cigarette. He lit up, leaning forward and using the flame from one of the candles that sat between them. He exhaled a plume of smoke between them, “On the market for a few things, really.” 

“What are you looking for?” He asked again.

Another puff of the cigarette, bought him time to collect his thoughts and think things through. There was a number of things that he wanted, but he also had his priorities. 

“I’m in the market for a companion.”

“A companion,” the man echoed thoughtfully.

If the fucker had done his homework, he would have known that despite the fact that the Mayor of Goodneighbor was bit of a mob boss, a kingpin, an alcohol and an addict, he also had one hell of a moral compass. There were so many people that just assumed things about him, like assuming that he would ever be interested in purchasing a person against their will, that falling into the lie was quite easy. 

“I want a smoothskin, preferably,” Hancock drawled, then sighed almost wistfully. “If I could ever get my hands on one of those vaulties… fuck me, brother. Have you seen some of them? Like those fucking pin-ups. The things I could do to an ass like that…” 

The smile that creased the man’s features was almost frightening. It was a dark look, a knowing look, and if Hancock didn’t know any better he would say that this guy had managed to get his hands on vaultie at least once in his life. Hancock didn’t want to press for information, he didn’t want the nitty-gritty details. 

“It just so happens…” the man said, all smug. He lost the inflection of his voice, the natural tenor showing through. “One of my contacts claims that some broad just crawled out of a vault recently. If you’re interested in someone like her in particular, it would be best to make a move on her now, before word gets out. She might fall into the hands of someone not willing to sell.” 

Hancock settled back into his seat, draping one of his arms over the back. He flicked some ash to the ground, placing the cigarette back in his mouth as he made a show of thinking things through. Another puff and he was pinching off the end of the cigarette so he could save the rest for later. He placed it back into the pack, then shoved it back into his pocket. While his hand was out of the man’s line of sight, Hancock slipped his bowie knife from its sheath. The blade was left to rest in his lap as he cocked a casual brow at the man. 

“You’d be the man t’ask if the word has gotten out or not.”

That smile again, slow and daunting, “And information like that will cost you.”

So Hancock started the game. 100 caps to know how many people already knew about the vault girl. The man stroked a black gloved finger over his chin, then divulged a bit of information. Word about the vaultie had already spread further than John would have liked. The broker had told three people about the vault girl – four including Hancock. The money was pulled from an old messenger bag that Hancock had brought with him. He passed a bag of pre-packaged caps in the man’s direction. He greedily pocketed the money. 

“Before I cough up any more money, what’s this bitch look like?”

“Red head,” was all the man said. Apparently that sort of information was free, enough to catch a man’s attention, enough to get the hook in place, enough to get them to pay for more. “Green eyes.”

The rage that Hancock felt was staggering, it made his hands shake and his pulse leap in his throat. He swallowed, trying to keep his cool when all he wanted to do was take his knife and drive the blade into the fucker’s head. He was spreading word about Nora – his Nora. There was no doubt, no question about it. Even if it wasn’t Nora, some poor lady had the wrong kinda eyes on her and that wasn’t okay in his book.

“Fuck,” he managed to rasp. “Gotta love a red.”

No response, just a gloved fingertip gently tapping against the table’s surface. Hancock dug into his bag again. It was another 75 caps just to get the direction she was in. North. Nora was to the north, too.

They played their game for nearly an hour. The broker would let bits of information slip here and there, enough to peak curiosity, enough for a potential buyer to ask more questions and lay down more caps. Hancock played. He gathered enough information that he was starting to suspect that someone in that little settlement Preston Garvey was trying to get Nora to run was selling some information of their own. 

“Y’don’t know anyone I can just buy from, do ya? Don’t really have the time t’go hunting…”

The man’s index finger tapped the table, “Well, there might be someone who specializes in that sort of merchandise.” 

It was 700 caps alone to get a name. 

“His name is Cecil.” B-I-N-G- _fucking_ -O.

“And how do I get in touch with Cecil?”

Before the man even had to start tapping his finger, Hancock tossed more caps onto the table. Cecil had a guy in Bunker Hill who Hancock would have to go through to set up a meeting. More money bought the guy’s name. Gerard. 

“If you want, I can set up the meeting.”

“Nah, brother,” Hancock said. “I think you’ve cleaned me out of caps for the night. Might as well give you the bag to pack everything out of here.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, and made a show of sighing before he reached out to shake the guy’s hand. “Thanks for the information.”

The Broker gathered his money into a travel bag he had brought. A little over 2,500 caps if John counted correctly. The guy blew out his candles, but didn’t bother to gather them. He left them on the table, secured by the wax that had melted and pooled on the old wood. Hancock stepped outside, not at all surprised to find a guy standing just outside the door. He was armed to the teeth, and dressed similarly to the Broker, who stepped outside just after John. 

Hancock loitered for just a moment, lighting up the cigarette he had been working on before, and taking a quick drag. “Well, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure doing business with ya.” He raised his hand, flicking the front corner of his hat. 

It wasn’t a second later, not even a full heartbeat, when there was a crack of noise and the Broker’s head exploded all over the side of the old diner. He brought the cigarette back to his lips as the Broker’s guard drew his weapon, as he twirled towards Hancock and took aim. On an exhale, as smoke seeped between him and his attacker, there was another explosion of gunfire, and the poor nameless guard dropped to the ground in a heap. Hancock pushed the Broker’s body over with his foot, then stooped down to grab the bag of caps. “I’ll just be takin’ these back.”

It was 20 minutes later, as Hancock was navigating his way through the abandoned street, when he was joined by RJ MacCready. The man walked to his side casually, that mean ol’ rifle slung over his shoulder, and his hat drawn down low over his eyes and his hands in his pockets.

“How’d it go?”

“Ah, it went swell. Just swell.”

“Sure it did. That’s why you look like you’re gonna break someone’s neck.”

The kid was good. On the best of days, MacCready was a little shit head, but he was Hancock’s little shit head. MacCready had become someone that Hancock knew he could rely on, and that was the sort that Hancock needed. Nora was safe at the moment, still hanging around the slog when he had checked on her a few hours ago. She seemed awfully fond of the place, and had grown attached to some old ghoul named Arlen. He had watched the two interact, and he was a fatherly sort – and Nora needed that kind of support. For the first time in days, she was content if not happy, and he didn’t want to disrupt that by telling her that someone had sold information about her. 

“Hey, brother, how d’you feel about business travel?”


	24. 097.	Writer's Choice: Friends

097\. Writer's Choice: Friends

It had been over two weeks since Nora had taken up residence at the Slog, and if she had it her way she’d never leave. The people were so willing to accept her into their circle that it was mind blowing. They were all so willing to teach, and Nora was more than a willing student. Under Arlen’s gentle guidance, Nora learned many things, mechanical things, things that she desperately needed to know if she wanted to survive. When she mentioned that someone in Sanctuary had wanted her to create some kind of water purifier – a comment that she had made when venting all of her woes to the older man – Arlen hummed thoughtfully before promptly guiding her out of his workshop. He told her to take a break, to go help Jones and Holly in the garden. She did, she went without question, and both ghouls were happy to have the additional help. It was a couple of hours later, as she was chopping tatos for dinner, when Arlen emerged from his workshop. He called her name, and once she reached him, he passed her a slip of ancient notebook paper. It was a schematic, a blueprint. In clean writing off to the side, he listened the required components, and what sort of machinery she could dig around to find them. 

“If you want to get the parts, we can work on it together,” he told her, that gentle smile in place. Nora couldn’t help it, she pulled the man into a tight hug. 

Since finding the Slog, Nora felt like she was cashing in all of her saved up Good Karma. The people at the Slog were inviting, and accepting of her presence. There had been more than one occasion where she attempted to pay for their help, but part way through the week, she stopped trying all together. Without any sort of compensation, the Slog’s residence was giving her vital survival tools – and her gratitude had been enough of a thank you. 

Though Nora still experienced moments of extreme guilt when she realized how little progress she had made when it came to finding her boy, it was quickly quelled when she reminded herself that she didn’t know how to survive on her own. If she managed to find Shaun, she wouldn’t know how to take care of him, she barely knew how to take care of herself. Nora didn’t want to be the reason why her son fell ill, or went hungry. So she learned what plants were acceptable to eat. She learned how to harvest vegetables, and razor grain. She learned how they stored their meat, and how to keep it properly preserved. And with Arlen Glass’ help, she would learn how to create a source of clean drinking water. 

After accepting the blue print from Arlen, Nora stepped out of her comfort zone in order to hunt down the supplies that she needed to build the water purifier. Every morning, after helping with breakfast, Nora would set out to scrounge up whatever scraps and machinery that she could. She siphoned gasoline, she hoarded fan belts, screws, and bolts. She would hall bags of gear back to the Slog, depositing them on Arlen’s workbench before setting out again. In the evenings, after she got back, Nora would help with dinner and then take a shift at evening watch. In the midst of it all, as she worked, as she traveled, she would find herself reaching out for John. 

They would go through idle chatter ( _”How was your day, dear?”_ ), then continue on with any number of things. They covered a vast spectrum of topics, from favorite colors and foods, to more philosophical things. John divulged childhood memories, and awkward teenage experiences, and Nora would follow suit. As the days went on, Nora found herself becoming incredibly fond of the man. He was charismatic, and he was a whole lot smarter than he gave himself credit for. Nate would have loved him. The more Nora got to know John Hancock of Goodneighbor, the more certain she was that Nate and John would have been fast friends. They were both stubborn and loyal to a fault. They were both strong, and capable men, and even though she had only known John for a few weeks, she knew that both men would bend over backwards to make her happy. John had helped her with so many things. She owed him so much. 

Bit by bit, she gathered the things on Arlen’s list and, after days of meticulous searching, she had everything that they needed. She stopped her daily wandering, and took up a spot in Arlen’s workshop where, together, they started constructing the water purifier. 

“Sounds like all he wants from you is a chance,” Arlen said, passing her a pair of needle nose pliers. “When you’re ready, I think you should give that to him.”

Arlen Glass had become her best friend, her confidant, her post-apocalypse father. It was his gentle guidance that gave her the confidence to step out of her comfort zone and get her hands dirty. 

“Nate would want me to be happy, but – Ouch!” she recoiled, eyeballing a small bleeding cut on her finger. Nora leaned in close to the chassis of the makeshift water purifier. She nearly stuck her head inside as she searched for what had done the damage. 

“You smile when you talk about him, you know.”

“Nate? Of course I—“

“Well, of course you smile when you talk about him – but I meant that you smile when you talk about John.” Nora paused, turning to look at Arlen as he settled back in his chair and smiled; that gentle and knowing smile that she had become so fond of. “You’re a smart woman, Eleanor. You should know that you wouldn’t be betraying Nathan’s memory by finding happiness again. If he was anything like you’ve said, he would want you safe, and happy, and loved…”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to—“

Arlen reached for her, settling one of his mottled hands against her cheek. “Of course not,” he crooned. “You just lost Nate a few weeks ago. I’m not telling you to hurry and fall in love, sweetie. You do that in your own time. I’m telling you that… it’s… okay to be happy, and John… he, well… he seems to make you happy.”

Nora worried her lower lip, leaning into Arlen’s hand, covering it with her own. She closed her eyes and took a breath to steady her nerves. “But, I'm afraid that I will fall in love with him, and...”

“And that’s okay,” Arlen murmured, his freehand reaching out towards her. He gathered a wayward tear with the pad of his thumb – because of course she was crying again. “If there is anything that can be learned from loss, it’s that you need to love the people in your life as strongly, and as fiercely as you can, because we never know when those special people will be taken away. Just remember, he will never replace Nate. You have a big heart, Eleanor. There is space for John in there, too.”

“Hey, smoothskin!” It was Wiseman’s voice, calling her from the front of the pool house.

Nora closed her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat, “Yeah?” She called out as Arlen withdrew, turning his attention back to the supplies on his workbench. 

“You got a visitor!”

The frown that had been marring Nora’s features deepened. Slowly, she peaked out of one of the broken windows to get eyes on the visitor. From a glance, it wasn’t anyone that she recognized from Sanctuary, and she found herself reaching to the pistol that was holstered on her thigh and flipping the safety off. Slowly, she left Arlen’s shop, stepping out into the early evening air. It had been a warm day, enough so that Nora had unzipped the top half of her vault suit in favor of adorning an oversized t-shirt. The arms of the suit were tied securely around her waist, and her hair was tied back into a ponytail. Her hands were greasy, and she could make out the dark smear of oil across her nose. She wasn’t really dressed for company, but she supposed that she never would be. 

Stepping around the building, Nora cleared her throat. The newcomer turned to face her. A smoothskin, like her. He wore an old conductor’s style hat, a long coat, and he had a rifle hanging off his shoulder from a makeshift sling that looked to be fastened from an old belt. As she grew closer, she noted that he was quite handsome, in a way. Tanned, blue eyes, and a confident smile. 

“Well,” he drawled, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Nora held her distance, fishing an old rag from her pocket so she could start cleaning her hands. She eyed him warily, “Do I know you?”

His smile grew, “No. But I know you.”

The man’s eyes followed her hand as it dropped down to her side, resting casually by her pistol. Off to the side, she could see Wiseman tense. 

Suddenly, the man laughed, “Calm down, girl! Shit, I’m a friendly.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t believe you.”

“Why don’t you, uh…” his index finger tapped his forehead. 

She did, whispering John’s name under her breath. 

_”What’s crackin’, doll fa – shit, is that MacCready? Fuck, he works fast…”_

“You know him?” she asked, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders. She almost gasped when she realized that she had been holding her breath. Wiseman waved his hand, catching her attention. He made a gesture, indicating that he was going to be inside. She nodded. 

_”Yeah, I know him. He’s out that way runnin’ an errand or two for me. I didn’t expect for him to get to you for another week or so.”_

“Wh-why didn’t you tell me that he was coming? I… God, I was getting freaked out.”

“Easy, angel,” the man known as MacCready drawled. “I told you, I’m a friendly.”

_”Don’t you call her that, you little shit.”_

Nora snorted, then immediately covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. She wanted to be irritated, dang it. She composed herself, dropping her hand. “He said your name was MacCready?”

“Yep! RJ MacCready, and you must be Nora,” he held out his hand, and Nora reached to shake it. Only for her hand to be lifted, she watched with almost wide eyes as he pursed his lips to plant a kiss to her skin. 

_”Goddammit, MacCready!”_

MacCready stopped, a mere centimeter from making contact, and then he snickered, giving her hand a firm shake. He was laughing, eyes glittering with his amusement. He seemed to know that John was still watching, and it seemed like he was going to take every opportunity he could to mess with Nora’s soulmate.

_”Tell that little fucker that he ain’t gettin’ paid for shit!”_

It didn’t matter how much she wanted to be angry, she couldn’t even manage a bit of irritation to shoot in John’s direction. Instead, she couldn’t help but laugh.


	25. 075. All I Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short. Dialogue heavy.   
> Was going to be waaaaay longer, but then it would take a year and a half to post.

075\. All I Ask

Organizing a meeting with Cecil had been a whole lot of cloak and dagger type bullshit that, frankly, Hancock was getting real tired of. It was a full day after MacCready reached the Slog when Hancock went to Bunker Hill. He hadn't planned on attempting to make the meeting for another week, but MacCready worked fast - and now was just as good of a time as any. Having Nora with an expert gun at her side gave Hancock the confidence to push forward with his plan. He changed out of his Hancock Clothes and into something a little more unnoticeable, casual clothing with a layer or two of makeshift armor. His tricorn was swapped for an old fedora. Without the fancy colonial garb, Hancock was just another ghoul. Just another ugly fucker who might go feral at any second... 

After getting to Bunker Hill, Hancock spent an hour or two milling about, observing and listening. It wouldn't do to start asking around, he needed to be discrete - and it paid off. It took a bit of time, but Hancock was able to figure out just who Gerard was. He was a surprisingly hefty gentleman, which was a feat in this day and age. He looked pretty deep in his cups, his body slumped down at one of the tables in the settlement's main building. When Hancock stepped up to the table, setting a fresh bottle of beer beside the guy, he stirred to look at him with bleary eyes. 

"Mind if I have a seat, brother?"

He reached for the bottle, and went to take a swig. The bottle didn't make it to his lips before the liquid was sloshing down over his chin and neck, wetting his dirty shirt. 

Hancock took a seat, taking a drink of his own beer. There was a silence between the two for a handful of moments before the guy grunted, "The fuck you want?"

"Yer Gerard? Friend of mine said you were someone I should find if I needed help procuring something."

There was a sudden clarity in the man's eyes, a steely hardness that took Hancock off guard. The guy gave Hancock the stare down of a lifetime, and Hancock willingly met his gaze head on. Gerard made a show of rubbing his palms against his pants, then held out a hand. Hancock took it, and ol' Gerry's grip was tight, bordering on painful, but there was something being pressed into his palm. 

"Ya found me. Now get the fuck outta m'face, y'ugly piece o' shit," he growled, then dropped Hancock's hand. 

"Sure brother, sure," Hancock drawled, fingers curling around the item that had dug so securely into his palm. He stood, rapping his knuckles on the table, before he pivoted on his heel and left. He left the area before he chanced a look at the crumpled paper in his palm. 

Midnight. Front gate. 

Hancock groused, glaring at the handwriting before wedging the note into his pocket. He was getting tired of this waiting bullshit. But without a whole lot of choices in the situation, Hancock loitered, he explored, he checked in on his Nora. 

When she wasn't elbows deep in grease and gears, she was with MacCready. The little shit head had taken to trying to teach Nora how to shoot his rifle, and when he wasn't doing that he was trying to get his hands on her Pip-Boy. 

_"Aw, come on. Just let me see it for a minute."_

_"RJ, I'm using it right now."_

_"Come on, I know you have some games on there."_

_"You can play with it when I am finished with it."_

_"You swear?"_

_"Yes, RJ. I swear."_

Though he could feel Nora's irritation starting to manifest itself, her voice remained calm, and gentle. The woman must have had the patience of a saint. Hancock sat and watched for several minutes, smiling to himself as he listened to them chat. Arlen would pipe in on occasions helping Nora with some of her work. Eventually, when MacCready asked about the Pip-Boy for the millionth time, he couldn't stay quiet.

"Tell him that if he asks about it again yer gonna send him to bed without dinner."

The dregs of irritation vanished, and he felt Nora's emotions shift. A warmth flooded him, bright and welcoming. 

_"John says that if you keep asking about the Pip-Boy, you will be sent to bed without dinner."_

There was a scoff in response, then Nora stood from her work. She tugged the Pip-Boy from her wrist and passed it to MacCready, _"You can use it until I get back."_

_"Finally!"_

Hancock watched as she left the workshop and stepped outside. She loitered away from the Slog, not terribly far, but far enough to get a little bit of privacy. 

"You've been busy today," he said softly, still basking in that pleasant warmth that radiated from her half of the bond. 

_"Yeah, sorry. We've been working on the purifier. Almost done with it, actually."_

"I'm proud of ya," he said, eyes glancing down at his armored pants. "You're kicking ass over there."

_"Thank you. I feel like I'm accomplishing something - something big, that people can benefit from."_

They chatted about the purifier for a few more moments, then MacCready. Nora didn't seem to mind him, even going so far as comparing MacCready to a brother that she never realized she wanted. 

"I know it's gotta seem like I gave you a babysitter," he started slowly, grimacing when he silently admitted to himself that that had been exactly what he did. "But hopefully after tonight-"

_"Tonight? What's happening tonight?"_

"I, uh, got a meeting... with our buddy, Cecil."

_"How did you find him?"_

"Everything is for sale if ya know the right person," he rasped. "I... I just wanted to give you a heads up so ya don't come calling and see somethin' you don't want to be seein'."

_"Is anyone going with you?"_ the worry in her voice was surprising, but the flood of emotion was as overwhelming as it was touching. She was genuinely worried about him - he could feel it. 

"Nah, flyin' solo on this one." The worry was immediately accompanied by hair-raising, gut-twisting anxiety. "Baby, I'll be fine." No answer, just wave after wave of emotions that almost made him feel ill. He focused his efforts on blocking that part of their bond. "Nora, Honey..."

There was a sniffle, _"Promise you'll be careful..."_

His heart ached. Slowly, he grasped one of his hands, giving it a gentle squeeze as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the knuckle. He hoped she felt what bit of comfort he tried to give her. "Honey, yer breakin' my heart..."

_"Promise me, John."_

"I'll promise to be careful on one condition..."

_"John-"_

"I promise to be careful, Nora. But now I want you to promise me something..."

A soft sigh, some of that anxiety lifting as he felt her fingers brush over the back of his hand. _"Okay..."_

"I know you don't need a babysitter, and I know that you probably don't like bein' saddled with one. But... if you can keep MacCready with you for another week or two..." he closed his eyes, feeling her hand squeeze his. He tickled his own fingers over his palm, feeling the softness of her skin under his touch. He pretended that she was there with him, their hands entwined. "Let him show ya the ropes, just for a couple of weeks. Then, when he heads back this way... maybe consider coming with him. You don't have to stay, I won't keep you here but... Promise that you'll consider it."

A gentle touch to his cheek, the barest caress, had him sighing softly. He leaned in to pursue the phantom touch, finding nothing but empty air. He opened his eyes, staring at the space he imagined Nora being. _"In two weeks, when RJ heads back to Goodneighbor... I'll be with him."  
_

"Don't say that unless you're sure."

_"I'm sure."_


	26. 014. Pauses

014\. Pauses

No matter how busy Nora kept herself, time seemed to be at a standstill. With Arlen’s help, the water purifier was finished, tested, and tweaked to perfection. The machine, though a bit noisy, worked like a dream. After the machine was finished, she spent time in the garden, keeping her hands busy. Whenever her mind began to wander, Nora delved into mentally reviewing old study material that was seemingly engraved into her brain for the rest of eternity. When that didn’t work, she sent herself on a refresher course of pivotal Supreme Court cases. As she desperately busied herself, she began to grumble out loud. There were far too many things going on in her head to simply sit and think about much of anything. What would start as a steady flow of facts and court cases would all turn into a dark, dark direction; John. John getting hurt. John getting killed. It reminded her of Nate going on deployment, and she hated it. Nora absolutely hated it. So, as crazy as it made her look, she preferred the mumbling. It kept her rampant thoughts on track. 

“Marbury v. Maddison, 1803. Established the Supreme Court’spower over judicial review over congress.” She yanked a handful of weeds from the ground, and tossed them aside. Her knees were pressed into freshly watered dirt, her back aching from her hunched posture. “Gideon v. Wainwright, 1963. Criminal defendants have a right to an attorney even if they cannot afford one.”

When the weeds in the garden were sufficiently eradicated, MacCready decided it was time to take her out for a bit of a breather. The man approached her slowly, hesitantly, eyebrows quirked curiously under his hat. He took hold of her arm, and started walking, away from the Slog, and into the wastes. He didn’t even give her time to grab her gun, and Dog didn’t even bother following. Nora followed his lead, finding that the exercise helped ease her nerves just a little bit. So they walked for a few hours, and Nora found that she was so much more at ease with someone at her side. They covered ground quickly, and RJ kept the conversation flowing with total ease. Then, when a threat presented itself, he was all business. The chatter stopped, and he took aim. On more that one occasion, he would suddenly crouch down and pass Nora the rifle. With his presence at her side, his voice a gentle whisper, he walked her through taking aim, about controlling her breath. 

It surprised her, but Nora had to admit that RJ MacCready was a pretty good teacher. He was surpisingly patient, but also a bit mouthy when she messed up. It was an odd combination, and Nora handled it with an amused silence. 

“He’ll be fine, ya know,” MacCready said as he slowed to a stop. He took a seat against an ancient vehicle that had been abandoned on a destroyed roadway. With his rifle draped over his lap, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one from the pack with his lips, then shook out one for her. 

“No thanks,” she murmured, taking a seat beside him.

“Heh, I’ll save you one just in case. This place will drive you to do more than just start up smoking.” They sat in silence for a moment, as he lit up his cigarette and enjoyed the first few puffs. Nora  leaned back, opening his rucksack to sift  
through the contents. He said nothing about her intrusion, just flicked some ash onto the hood of the car beside him. Nora pulled out a bottle of water from his pack, and took a quick drink before passing it to him. “I meant what I said, Nor. Hancock knows what he’s doing. He’ll be fine.”

Nora sighed heavily as he took the bottle from her hands to take a drink, “I just wish he had someone with him.”

“He would usually take me or Fahrenheit with him on these sorts of things, but this Cecil guy? Shit’s personal.”

“Personal? I don’t—“

 

MacCready sighed heavily, a rush of smoke escaping his lungs. Nora waved it away, frowning at the ground as he glanced her way. “Someone in your little settlement was selling information on you, Nor. That’s why I was up in your neck of the woods.” 

“Selling information…”

MacCready, glanced at her, adjusting his hat to keep the setting sun out of his eyes, “Yep.”

She turned to face him, eyebrows knitting together. Someone in Sanctuary sold information on her, selling it to – who? There was an anxiety that accompanied the new information, but also a surprising level of anger. “Someone in Sanctuary was selling information about me,” she said. Saying it out loud made the anger that much worse. “Selling to who?”

“Folks who are real interested in getting their hands on a bombshell fresh from the vault, I guess.” Nora’s fingers tightened to fists, and she felt her teeth clench down, her jaw working – and that is when MacCready nudged her shoulder with his, “Hey, it’s been taken care of, okay? Nothing to worry about.”

Nora suddenly wanted more than just a cigarette. She wanted a drink. “I trusted those people.”

“Gotta be careful who you trust, Nor,” he said, swaying back into her shoulder, then leaning away, only to come swaying right back to nudge into her. She cast him a side-long glance just as he leaned into her. “You can trust me, though. I’m good people.”

“Uh huh.”

“And not all of them were bad. That Marcy Long is a damn dragon lady, though,” He chuckled, tossing his cigarette to the ground. They sat in another stretch of silence, just relaxing in one another’s company. 

“Hey, you wouldn’t mind tagging around for a couple of weeks, would you?” she asked as she slipped from the hood of the car and to her feet. “I was going to head back to Sanctuary, make them a water purifier. I have to get the materials for another one, though, and—“

“Sure.”

Nora’s eyebrows raised in surprise. She turned on her heel to face him. “Really?”

“Well, you're going to pay me, right?"

She wasn't entirely sure why she thought that they managed to become friends already, but RJ asking for payment almost hurt. Would she even be able to afford a mercenary? What kind of price did something like that run for?

"Nor, I'm kidding. Hancock is paying me." He slid from the car, shouldering his rifle. "That didn't sound much better," he said distantly, then reached out, placing a hand on Nora's shoulder. "No one is going to come and outbid Hancock, okay? He's paying me, sure, but it's because he understands that man has to make a living."

Nora accepted his statement. She trusted John, she wanted to believe that he wouldn't send some easily-bought mercenary to watch over her. 

-

Nora couldn't sleep. She had tried, for more than a couple of hours, she tried, but a severe case of anxiety prevented her from drifting off. As it grew later, and later, Nora found herself waiting for that gut-wrenching pain to tear her soul apart. She waited for the universe to chew her up and spit her back up. Her unrest was so terrible that she went out to the pool and started lapping the perimeter. It was approaching 3AM when she felt John's end of the bond tentatively brush against her senses. A beat later and she was groaning, falling to her knees as pain erupted along her rib cage, her arm, and her chest. The pain in her ribs and chest made it hard to breathe.

"J-John?"

_"Hey, honey,"_ came the exhausted whisper. _"Just... wanted t'see if you were a...wake..."_

"What happened? Are you alright?"

_"Oh, ye-yeah. Everything is... fine. Got the fuckin' shit beat and... fucker. Baseball bat. Bullshit. Bit...ch."_

He sounded borderline incoherent. The more he spoke, the weaker his voice became, until he faded off with a final expletive. Nora called after him gently, but there was no response. It was in that moment, when Nora came to terms with the fact that she wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.


	27. 011. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorta trigger warning...
> 
> No rape, or anything of the like, but it's implied that it happened to some unfortunate souls who happen to be locked up, and nude, and drugged outta their minds. 
> 
> Just a warning.

011\. Broken

Just before midnight, Hancock methodically searched the meeting area. He checked the surrounding buildings, and any other nooks and crannies that he had discovered earlier during the day. After his thorough search, he deemed the meeting point to be safe – or, at least, as safe as ya could get in the Commonwealth. When he returned to the front gate of Bunker Hill, Gerard was there, big, burly, and impatient. 

“The note said ‘midnight’,” the guy growled, thick arms crossed over his chest. 

Hancock blinked owlishly in the moonlight before pulling back the sleeve of his shirt back from his wrist. Mottled skin, almost visible bones. He shook his arm, then tapped his index finger against his skin. Golly, was he late? “Sorry, brother. This ol’ thing has never worked right.” Of course he knew the fucking time, he had a functioning watch in his pocket, thank you very fucking much. 

There was a low grumble at his antics. Gerard growled, “It’s gonna be 1,000 caps up front.”

Hancock had prepared to drop all of the caps that he had to his name. He pulled his pack around to his front, reaching in and pulling out the required caps without complaint. This was business, after all. Why wouldn’t he be putting any money down up front? He wouldn’t be surprised if there were additional fees tacked on later. They obviously had a specific clientele; folks that could drop an obscene amount of caps to purchase a human being. Once the money was accepted, Gerard shouldered past him and started walking. Hancock followed at a respectable pace, and watched ol’ Gerry like a hawk. Every move that brick shit house of a man made, Hancock followed and analyzed. The man packed a couple of weapons on his person, a pistol at his hip, a rifle resting in a holster on his back. Without the guns, the man was probably still a threat. His arms were bigger than Hancock’s head, and they looked like solid mass. For the time, he’d keep his distance. 

Hancock followed Gerry in uneventful silence for about 45 minutes before they reached an old building. It was big, dark, and Hancock found himself mentally preparing for a fight as they stepped inside. Once the door was closed and locked behind him, light suddenly illuminated the entryway. Gerard lifted an old lantern, the candlelight flickering and damn near haunting. Now that they were in an enclosed space, Hancock could smell the man beside him. He smelled like booze, bile, urine. Hancock bit his tongue to keep himself from making a comment. 

The man suddenly lurched forward, pulling Hancock’s sawed off shotgun from the holster at his thigh, then he tossed it to the ground before gesturing for him to follow. The situation suddenly became a bit problematic. Though bringing the weapon into the place had been wishful thinking on his part, the actual removal of the shotgun from his person pushed him a little further to the edge. He still had his knife, secured to his inner thigh under his jeans, but that wasn’t easily accessible. All the same, Hancock followed Gerard down the hallway, to another door. Once there, Gerry slammed a meaty fist into the old wood. There was a curse from the other side, followed by the sound of rattling chains. Eventually, the door swung open. The space was well lit, with actual fixtures that illuminated the space in cold florescent lighting. The man at the door was tall, muscular. He was shirtless, and his pants were undone. There were stains blotting the material around his crotch and his thighs – and Hancock didn’t have to stare to know what kind of stains they were. Instead, his eyes swept the room behind Tall-Nasty. Cages, and old bed tucked against the wall in the far corner. There were seven cages in total, and all but one was occupied by a noticeably naked body. The seventh person was on the bed, limbs secured to the frame with cuffs and rope. There was tape over her mouth. 

Hancock’s gut flipped suddenly, and his eyes narrowed. The room smelled like sex, and blood, and alcohol. There were canisters of jet littering the room, discarded and likely empty. There was a part of him that immediately wished that he never learned that this hell hole existed. He wished he had never heard Cecil’s name – he wished he could have remained oblivious to the whole situation. But now that he did know about it, he was going to make it right. Hancock could fix this mess – and he was going to start by killing the fuckers that were running this shit-show. 

“You got caps?” Tall and Nasty asked, looking Hancock over with a surprising amount of animosity. It the noticeable bulge in his pants was any indication, Hancock could only assume that the creep had been cock blocked by his arrival. 

“Yeah, a few,” Hancock said casually, his eyes on the merchandise. 

“500 for the viewing. 900 if you wanna get handsy.”

That was cheaper than he thought. He passed the 900 over, digging more of the same pre-bagged caps he had used with the Broker out of his travel bag. He had a hefty sum ready for the evening, all for show, but ready nonetheless. Tall and Nasty accepted the caps, and then gestured him further into the room. The door closed behind him. Hancock approached the cage furthest from the bed, his eyes narrowing on the woman inside. She was small, short and skinny. Black hair covered her face, and Hancock reached through the bars to move it aside. Her features were angular, eyes slanted just enough to hint at her heritage. She was naked, scarred, and there looked like fresh bruises on her arms. The woman’s eyes looked heavy, and they were painfully blank. When Hancock brushed her hair back behind her ear, she moaned and shivered softly, closing her eyes tightly. 

Slowly, he lingered to the next cage, inspecting the poor soul within. The sixth cage housed a man, bound, gagged, and looking lucid enough to glare at him murderously. With the skin-dealers at his back, Hancock winked at the man before his gaze shifted to the woman on the bed. She was trembling, eyes wild as she tugged and squirmed at her binds. 

“That’s a new one,” Tall and Nasty said, “Hasn’t been properly broken in yet. Still got a bit of a fight in her, if you’re into that sorta thing.”

Hancock rasped, “Is that what you were doin’ when we showed up? Breaking her in?”

There was a low chuckle in response. 

Black eyes swept over the cages again. He had to actively take care to keep his breathing even-paced, and relaxed. One of these people could have so easily been his Nora. The thought was chilling. 

“Which one’a you kids is Cecil?” he drawled, glancing over his shoulder at the two men. “I was told I could ask him about maybe acquiring something specific.”

“Specific - like what?”

He was digging for things he didn’t really want to be digging for, but he had to ask – even if it was just for the sake of knowing if there was anyone else he needed to add to his shit list. He turned his attention back to the cages, slipping his hand into his pockets as nonchalantly as he could. His right hand delved a little deeper, through the hole in the bottom of his pocket. He grasped the handle of his bowie knife, then pulled the blade from the sheath, further up into his pocket so it was easier to access. The pants were big enough on his frame that the shape of the knife wasn’t terribly noticeable through the material… or, at least, he hoped. 

“Our mutual friend said there was a vaultie further North. Fresh to the Commonwealth.”

“So we’ve heard. Cecil ain’t here to give you a price. Could be anywhere between 7,000 and 10,000, though. Maybe more depending on how you want her handled on the way back.”

Cecil wasn’t home. Cecil wasn’t _fucking_ home. He let his frown mar his features as he turned to face the two. He growled low in his throat, “The fuck you mean he ain’t here? All of this fucking waiting…”

“Hey, if you wanna schedule a meeting with him you can do that. If you ain’t interested in the merchandise then you can get the fuck out until he gets back,” Gerard said. 

Hancock met his eyes, silently challenging the man to make a move. He didn’t – and since he didn’t make a move, Hancock did. Slowly, Hancock approached, casual and careful. “Can we set that meeting up now? By the sound of it, our buddy has been sellin’ that vault bitch's information all over the fuckin’ place.” He was closer, five feet, four… "And I'm callin' dibs."

“He should be here tonight or tomorrow morning. We—“

The blade of his bowie knife sank into Gerry’s thick neck with a wet squelch. The man’s eyes bulged, and a burst of blood came from his mouth as he coughed and sputtered. In the heat of the moment, with murder on his mind, all Hancock had wanted to do was shut the fucker up. He had yanked the bowie knife from his pocket, and he threw it. Hours of practice paid off, and the blade sank right where he wanted it. He felt victorious… right until Tall and Nasty slammed a wooden baseball bat down into his outstretched arm. 

Hancock recoiled, yelling his surprise and his pain just as the bat slammed into his chest. Hancock dropped to the ground due to the force of the hit, the breath leaving his lungs in a painful rush that made his eyes water. The bat swung at him again, aimed for his head, but he rolled and lurched. There was a sickening crack as the hard wood slammed into the floor where he had just been. Still gasping, eyes bleary, he lunged towards Gerry’s body. He ripped the pistol from his waist just as the bat slammed into his rib cage. He crumbled into Gerry’s stinking corpse, wheezing and breathless. 

“You thought you could come in here and—“ His voice was drowned out by gunfire. Despite being in a useless, gasping heap, Hancock still aimed the gun accurately enough to hit Tall and Nasty. The first bullet went into his shin, and then he angled up higher into his thigh, then his gut, his chest – and the rest of the clip missed as Tall & Nasty also collapsed to the ground. 

Hancock flopped to his back, stretching out beside Dead Gerard, and the growing pool of blood that surrounded him. He could feel the sticky liquid sinking into the shoulder of his shirt, all warm and thick. He took a deep breath, and when it hitched in pain, he figured that he maybe broke a rib. With his arm curled over his aching chest, he prodded at his rib cage and instantly regretted it. 

“Y-yeah, that’s definitely broken,” he told the room, his voice weak and airy. “G-gimme a minute, kids. I’ll…” A shallow gasp, and he closed his eyes. “Just… one second…” 

There was a feminine groan, but it didn’t belong to anyone in the room. That was his Nora, and she sounded hurt. With his eyes closed, his brows furrowed in confusion before he realized he was reaching for her, searching some kind of comfort. 

_”J-John?"_

"Hey, honey," he managed.. "Just... wanted t'see if you were a...wake..." 

_"What happened? Are you alright?"_

He didn’t remember answering, and he certainly didn’t remember drifting off. But he woke to the sound of something rattling, loud and urgent. His body jolted, and he groaned, tugging his bum arm against his chest. The woman on the bed was rattling her handcuffs. He wondered how long he had been out… and he wondered how much more time he had before Cecil showed up. 

He reached through the bond again, “Nora, honey?”

_“God, John, are you okay? What happened?”_

“I don’t mean to worry you…” his words were broken by strained gasps of air as he slowly rolled to his stomach. Gerard’s puddle of blood had cooled beneath him. “But… Imma’fraid imma need some help. Sooner the better, if y’can.”

 _“Of course,”_ came the immediate response. Hancock heard Nora whispering MacCready’s name, and then the kid’s drowsy grumbling. _“Tell me where you are. We’re leaving – RJ, come on. John needs help – we’re leaving right now.”_

Dark eyes peered at the woman on the bed, at the man in the cage who was staring at him, they were still the only lucid people there – he couldn’t have been out for too long. Even if he had made it out of the mess without getting injured there was no way he would have been able to take all of the prisoners by himself, not in the state they were in. He suddenly wished he would have brought Fahrenheit along. “Help ‘s comin’, kids.” 

In the meantime, he would start by looking for keys – his ribs screamed as he pushed himself to his feet – and maybe a goddamn stimpack.


	28. 030. Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of this fic is going the way I planned, and I'm delighted.

Before leaving the Slog, Nora scribbled a quick note for Arlen and left it at his work bench. Then she pin pointed where John was on her map with his help. He couldn't give a precise location, but he gave the general whereabouts, and she was able to mark it down. Once they were ready, Nora, MacCready, and Dog set off into the night. While Nora was largely uncomfortable traveling through the dark, MacCready seemed a bit more at ease than when he traveled during the day. When she mentioned it, MacCready shrugged, as if it was obvious. It was easier to travel, if they stayed quiet - he stressed the word, his head turning in her direction - then no one would be aware of their location unless they were _really_ looking for a fight. In a conflict it was easier to hide, unless the enemy had the right tech to scope out their target in the dark. Nora fell into anxious silence, walking after MacCready with her pistol drawn and ready. 

It took a little under three hours to make it to Bunker Hill. The monument still stood, tall and proud, and mostly intact. It was almost haunting, seeing the pillar jutting from the remains of the old buildings surrounding it, the sun starting to rise in the background. As the monument grew closer, John's voice whispered across her consciousness.

_"If you want to stay there for the morning, I wouldn't be upset, sweets."_

"No," she said softly, sternly. "You need help, and we're almost there."

_"You aren't going to like what you see. This isn't how I wanted our first meeting to go."_

"Well, none of this has gone how you wanted. It's pretty par for the course."

_"Ha. Yer a riot."_

"We'll be there soon. Just hang tight."

They continued on, Nora consulting the map so they were headed in the right direction as they walked through the rubble of old buildings. They only had a vague idea as to where the building was, but when they finally found it, John was able to chime in, and tell him that they were there. MacCready took a moment to survey the area, the scope of his rifle raised to his eye to peer into the surrounding areas. He looked back the way they came for a good long while.

"Everything okay in there?" MacCready asked. Nora repeated the question. 

_"It's okay as it's going to get._

"He said it's okay-"

_"- as it's going to get. There is no part of any of this that is okay. Nothing is okay in here, but... it's... not gonna be getting any better."_

"Let's go."

They approached the building, Dog leading the charge, with MacCready taking the rear. When they reached the building the door was unlocked. They stepped inside, closing the door behind them. They were immediately surrounded by darkness. Nora used the light of her Pip-Boy, casting the room in eerie green light. MacCready immediately crouched to the ground, picking up a shotgun from near the door. He passed it to Nora, telling her it was “Hancock's”. Nora took the weapon into her freehand, being mindful of the trigger. 

Dog rushed ahead, down the hallway to another door. He scratched at the floor, nose to the ground. MacCready and Nora followed. MacCready pushed the door open, and Dog rushed inside – RJ was just a step behind him. 

"Shit, Hancock, what the fuck..."

"Hey," came the gravely, rasping voice of her soulmate, echoing into the hallway from the room just ahead. "This ain't my fucking circus, okay?" The door swung shut, leaving Nora in the hallway.

Nora's stomach lurched. Her anxiety levels had been uncomfortably high the whole trip from the Slog. She was worried, and scared, but blanketing it all was a bubbly excitement that came with the idea of meeting her soulmate for the first time. Despite knowing that he was hurt, and knowing that the current situation probably wouldn't allow for the type of meeting either of them had imagined, she couldn't help but being a bit giddy - and even more anxious. She lingered in the hallway, looking down at her dirty vault suit and wishing she looked cleaner, more put together. Sighing, she stepped forward, reaching for the door, only to stop when John’s voice drifted across her consciousness. 

_”Hold on, sweets._ His voice was a soft whisper, no longer lingering into the hallway from the room ahead. _”There’s… It ain’t pretty in here.”_

“I’ve accepted that about nearly the entirety of the Commonwealth. So-“ her voice hitched as the door in front of her opened. Nora took a step back as her soulmate stepped forward into the hallway. The door closed behind him. 

There he was, in the flesh. John. John McDonough. John Hancock. 

John, with his arm in a makeshift sling. John, looking like he had just been through hell. John, gazing at her with his bewitching onyx eyes, like she was the only thing that existed in the whole world. Nora's breath left her in a heavy gust, like the air had been knocked from her lungs. She had a sudden yearning to close the distance between them, to touch, to hold and never let go. It was her soul recognizing its counterpart, and the feeling was so intense it brought tears to her eyes. 

There was a gentle warmth that radiated from him, hopeful and hesitant. 

She swallowed the lump in her throat, “Hi.” She couldn’t raise her voice above a whisper. 

“Hi,” he replied, his voice just as soft. 

She found herself stepping towards him. Then he took a step toward her. They started naturally gravitating towards one another, until John reached out towards her, his fingers slipped around the back of her neck. His skin was rough but he was gentle even as he pulled her closer. For a split second, she thought he was going to kiss her – and she wasn’t ready for that, she really wasn’t ready – and he surprised her. 

He dipped his head down, and instead of bringing her in for a kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. He exhaled heavily, his eyes drifting closed. The tension in his shoulders eased as he stepped in closer. She didn’t need to reach through the bond to know what he was feeling – because she felt it too. It was the feeling of becoming whole, of being complete. She closed her eyes, covering his hand with hers. 

“I’ve been waiting for you forever,” he whispered. “And you’re finally here.”

Nora smiled, “How’s your arm?”

“Arm’s fine.”

“How about your ribs?” She opened her eyes to watch him.

“I have plenty of ribs. Ribs are fine.”

“Your chest?” 

“S’fine.”

“Pride?”

“Definitely bruised.”

When she laughed, he opened his eyes, meeting hers. 

Suddenly, there was screaming, terrified and shrill. Nora’s head snapped to the source. The moment in time where her and John were the only people in the world that existed shattered. John slipped the shotgun from her hand in a movement that was completely seamless and all flourish. The door was pushed open, and he stepped inside, Nora hot at his heels. The second she stepped into the room, she instantly regretted it.

There were two bodies on the floor, one riddled with bullet holes, the other with a sizable wound to the throat. Blood pooled around them, dark and daunting in the cold fluorescent lighting. There were cages in the room, and even though the cage doors were open there were people inside. They were naked, hurt, but looked to be asleep from her vantage point. There was a dirty bed in the far corner, where a naked woman was curled in on herself, trembling. There was a naked man sitting at her bedside. This place was a nightmare. 

In front of the screaming woman was MacCready, his hands up in surrender. It looked like he had gotten too close to the cage, and the woman lashed out. 

As she made her way to the cage the screaming woman was in, she was reminded of number of occasions she had interacted with victims, survivors of cases that were reminiscent of the mess she found herself in. A gentle hand was best, a soft voice, and patience - all of the patience in the world. Nora went to the open door, and reached for the shrieking woman. Her hands lashed out, hitting and clawing weakly as she lost all of the energy she had. When the woman was done flailing, when she screamed herself to ragged and choking sobs, Nora began to hum softly, stroking her hair over the back of the woman's head. 

"D-don't hurt me..." the sobbing woman begged. "No more. Please."

"No one here is going to hurt you. I promise. We're here to help."

"N-no more..."

After setting her pack and weapons aside, Nora slipped into the cage beside the woman. The woman latched on to her, burying her face into her bosom, wrapping her arms around her neck as she continued to sob. Nora peered at MacCready, and then at John, "Are there any clothes they can wear?"

"Yeah," John rasped. "It ain't much, though."

"Anything will do," Nora said, gently rocking the woman. "We're going to get you out of here. I promise."


	29. 083. With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue heavy. 
> 
> Also, note that the prompt table I am working on has a total of 100 words on it. •_•
> 
> Another also, I totally meant them to ha e soulbond sex before we ever got to this point. Soon. Hopefully.

083\. With You

 

It took quite a bit of time to get everyone back to Goodneighbor. Thankfully the trip was, for the most part, uneventful. There was the occasional hang-up, but nothing that was life threatening. They didn’t run into any wayward super mutants, no raiders, and no surprise-Cecil. It was slow moving, and MacCready was visibly getting frustrated with the pace – Hell, so was Hancock – but he was also very noticeably following Nora’s lead. The woman was a beacon of warmth, affection, and patience. Whenever one of the traveling party had an emotional relapse she was there in a flesh, ready to help. The people formed a very visible attachment to Nora, they gravitated to her like moths to flame. At any given time, there was a woman latched onto her arm, another holding onto her sleeve. They got as close to the woman as they could, and they stayed there until they got to Goodneighbor – until everyone was safely transferred into Dr. Amari’s capable care. 

There wasn’t a whole lot of space in the lab, and Hancock immediately sent word to the Rexford to reserve some rooms for the night. They also needed clothes – the things that were on hand for the victim’s to wear didn’t amount to much. Essentially burlap sacks with holes cut for the neck and arms. He hoped that Daisy had some clothes on hand, these folks were gonna need a bit of help getting their shit together. The trio stepped out of the Memory Den, and there was a collective sigh. It had been a long day, and it was barely after noon. 

“I’m gonna go see Charlie,” MacCready said, “See if we can get these folks some food. Also, I’m starving.”

“RJ,” Nora scolded gently, drawing a smile to the man’s otherwise tired features. 

“You want something too, Nor? Hancock?”

Hancock shook his head, “I gotta go and medicate, and clean up a little.”

“Do you think you should go and see the doctor?” His eyes shot towards Nora, meeting her worried gaze. She also looked tired, her voice was getting a little raspy from use. 

He grinned, “Aw, sweets, I’m basically a doctor. Don’t need to go to one.”

MacCready snorted, “Pharmacist is more like it. Y’want me to send something up to your office, then?”

Hancock stepped in towards MacCready, pinching his cheek, “Aw, would you? Yer such a sweetie, RJ.”

He swatted at Hancock’s hand, then pivoted on his heel, "Yeah, yeah, I’ll send it up. C’mon, boy. Let’s go get some food.” Dog followed MacCready, trotting along quite happily.

Hancock looked to Nora at the same time that Nora looked to him. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a grin, and he tossed his head to the side, “Ya wanna come up to the office?”

She smiled, nodded, “Sure.”

“You could go with 'Cready if you want-“

“No, I—“ her gaze dipped down to the ground, her hand finding one of the dials on her Pip-Boy, and twisting it one way, and then the next. “I’ll come with you.”

Hancock’s smile grew. When he turned to leave, she fell into step beside him. Her proximity still made him jittery. There was a perpetual urge to reach out and touch her, to take her hand and make some kind of physical connection. The woman had just traveled with a whole flock of needy women, and one man, all of which remained firmly glued to her side until she passed them off to the Doctor. He was sure she needed a bit of space for at least a little bit, and he was going to give her that. He didn’t want to crowd her, but Goddamn he wanted to grab ahold of her and never let go. 

He lurched up the stoop and held the door open as Nora peered up at the building with a knowing smile. “Your office is in the Old State House? You know this building… This building was probably one of the most important public buildings in Colonial America.” 

“And now it’s one of the most important public buildings in the Commonwealth.”

Once they reached the office, Hancock went to one of the chest of drawers he had tucked against the wall. He rooted around the inside, bypassing the booze and getting a couple bottles of water. He also dipped into his chem-stash. He placed a couple of bottles on his desk, along with a Stimpack. He passed Nora the bottle of water. 

“Go ahead and take a seat, get comfortable. I’m gonna go clean up real fast.”

He left the room with his water and chems as she was sitting down, and he rushed to his room to get himself cleaned up and changed. His arm still hurt like a bitch, and he still had a little bit of difficulty breathing. With a little help from the Stimpack, he would be right as rain in no time. And if he wasn't, then there was a radiation bath in his future. Hancock was careful as he shed his clothes, trying not to jostle his arm any more than he needed to – which was difficult. Dead Gerry’s blood had soaked into the material, and dried to the majority of his back, and peeling the material away was challenging and uncomfortable. Getting himself washed up was another feat entirely. Once finished, he donned his Hancock clothes. He eyed himself in the mirror, adjusting the collar of the coat. It felt good, being back in his own clothes. It felt normal, it felt right, and it made him feel more like himself. Now he just had to get his shit together, man the fuck up, and face the woman. She made him so damn nervous.

Hancock returned to his office, and was just about to suggest that they go down to Third Rail and eat with MacCready when he saw Nora, curled up on the end of the couch, her weapon, Pip-Boy, and bag on the floor beside her. The warmth that flooded him was instantaneous. He fucking loved this woman already. There was no doubt about it. Even without the soulbond, he could see himself loving her. 

Slowly, quietly, he crossed the room towards the couch. He sat down on the corner of the coffee table, a smile plastered on his face. He reached out, pushing a wayward bit of hair behind her ear. 

“Nora, honey,” he murmured, slipping from the table to lower onto his knees beside the couch. She stirred slowly, her eyes cracking open. “Baby, why don’t we get you into bed, huh?”

She shifted on the couch, blinking a few times, “I’m sorry… I haven’t pulled an all-nighter in a while.”

“Don’t be,” he said, keeping his voice soft with the hopes that she would be willing to catch a few more Z’s. “You should take a nap. I can bring you some food in an hour, or I can get you for dinner.”

Her eyes were drifting closed again, “Do I get those crab cakes that you were eating the other day?”

Hancock was still smiling, big enough that it was starting to hurt his cheeks. “Mirelurk cakes. You can have that for dinner, if that’s what you want.”

“With the sauce?”

His hand found hers. Such simple contact still made him feel almost euphoric. He gave her a gentle tug, trying to coax her from the couch.

“Do you want the sauce?”

She nodded, following his lead as he stood. “Yeah.”

Hancock guided Nora to his room. Though he was sure that she would be more comfortable if she got out of that vault suit, he didn’t dare suggest that she remove it. He did, however, go to his dresser and fish out a clean t-shirt. It was a little rumpled, but it would be plenty useful for sleeping in, should she so choose. She lowered herself down onto the edge of his bed, unlacing her boots and tossing them aside. The room was, thankfully, mostly clean. It was a little dusty, and there was a couple old glasses hanging around, but it was almost complete devoid of clutter and junk. He didn't use the room for much outside of sleeping. Drinking himself into a stupor was typically reserved for his office, or Third Rail, or out in the street.

“I’ll come get you for dinner?”

“That sounds fine,” she said softly, lifting the shirt. “Thank you – I could have just stayed on the couch. You need some rest, too.”

“Don’t worry about me, honey. I got some work that needs to be done.” 

“Thank you, John.”

He wanted to lean in and kiss her; her cheeks, her forehead, her fluttering eyelids. He wanted to slip into bed beside her, and hold her as she slept. He wanted to memorize her features, down to the pattern of freckles that went over her nose and the apples of her cheeks. He showed some restraint, and instead he simply said, "You're welcome."

He left the room and returned to his office, hoping to find another tin of mentats, since the one tucked in his pocket only had one or two tablets left. He slowed when he saw the Pip-Boy, the pistol, and the bag. He trusted his people to not come rooting around in his office without permission, but he imagined that Nora would appreciate having her things when she woke up. He gathered everything, pausing just a moment to look the Pip-Boy over, and then he returned to his room. He stopped just outside of the door and reached out through the bond. 

She was already changed out of the vault suit, already tucked under the covers and her head on the pillow. He could feel it, the pressure of the mattress against his side like he was in the bed with her. She was warm, and comfortable, and she felt safe. 

"Hey, sweets," he whispered, staring at his bedroom door. "I'm coming in, okay?"

 _"Mmhmm,"_ came the groggy hum in response. She was already drifting to sleep. 

Hancock entered his bedroom, trying his best to keep his foot falls quiet. He went to the side of the bed where her boots and suit were, folded up and neatly stacked together. He set her things down, and before he could turn to leave, he found himself standing at her bedside, watching as she drifted off. 

Slowly, he leaned down over his soulmate, pressing his lips to her temple. "Sleep well, Nora."


	30. 024. Bewitching

024\. Bewitching 

Nora woke slowly. It was the feeling of fingers carding through the ends of her hair that roused her, softly, gently. It was so soothing that she almost slipped back to sleep, but she forced her eyes open. The room was dark, save for flickering candle light. John was sitting on the edge of the bed, gently working a tangle from her hair before combing through once again. Nora eyes lifted, meeting shimmering black. She knew that look; she had seen it every day for a number of years. It was love, adoration - it made her pulse leap. 

"Sleep okay?" He asked, voice grating but soft.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice a course sleep-laden whisper. "Thank you for letting me take your bed." His fingers carded into her hair again, traveling from scalp to ends without obstruction. It felt wonderful. Her eyes drifted shut. "Mm... you're gonna put me back to sleep." 

"If you wanna go back to sleep ya can," he chuckled, extracting his fingers from her hair. "But I would prefer if ya ate somethin'."

She nodded into the pillow, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a long sigh. Though she was sure that she could sleep through the night with absolutely no problem, she did need to get some food into her system. Slowly, she sat up, the blanket pooling at her waist. The room was comfortably warm, not too hot, not particularly cold, but surprisingly comfortable. She'd be able to get back to sleep, no problem. Hancock stood. The swish of his coat at his heels made his journey to the door almost dramatic. 

"I'll be in my office when yer ready."

Once the door was closed, Nora slipped from the bed and stretched. The old oversized t-shirt John had given her rose up, tickling her thighs before her arms flopped back to her sides. Though she dreaded the idea of getting back in to her dirty clothes she forced herself to tug the shirt from her frame to put her bra back on. The shirt she slept in was discarded and she pulled her dirty undershirt on. The vault suit was thoroughly shook out before she was zipping herself back into the course material. Then came her socks, her boots. Out of habit she grabbed her holster and her gun, along with her Pip-Boy. She pushed her bag beneath the bed, then went to the mirror. 

Nora took a couple of moments to brush her fingers through her hair, and after the third pass she accepted that John had managed to work most of the tangles out of it. It looked a little flat, lacking the volume it once had so she tugged it into a quick pony tail. Her bangs were swept to the side after she gave them a gentle tousle. Out of a years-old habit, she dragged her fingers under her eyes in an effort to clean up any wayward mascara. When she realized what she had done, she rolled her eyes. How long had it been since she wore mascara? Over a month, easily. 

Before leaving John's bedroom, she blew out the candle. Lighting up the Pip-Boy, she went to the door and stepped into the dark hallway just as John stepped out of a door near the end of the hall, which was helpful considering the number of closed doors in her immediate vicinity. She remembered walking to the bedroom from his office earlier but her eyes had been mostly closed, and John had been leading her by the hand. 

They met at the stairs, and John was quick to offer his arm. She delighted in the simple courtesy, threading her arm through his before they started down the stairs. On each floor that they passed, there was a ghoul in a fedora and a suit, and they nodded in greeting, "Mayor, Ma'am."

Ma'am. How long had been since she had been called Ma'am? In response, Nora lifted a hand, waved, and bid them good evening. Hancock would flick the end of his hat in a quiet response. Once outside Nora couldn't help but marvel at how lit up and active Goodneighbor was. There were people out and about, gathered together talking and laughing. There were lights, and neon and the smell of food permeated the area. This place was alive. In Sanctuary, at night, the place turned hauntingly dark. The people would congregate around the fire, but they were somber and long faced. The Slog was better, happier - but it couldn't hold a candle to Goodneighbor. Goodneighbor was alive, and thriving... 

And it was all because of the man who held her arm. A killer, and a savior, Mama Murphy had said. Nora was starting to understand that the old woman couldn't have said it any better. 

"This is amazing," she said, peering around the street as they walked. She felt more warmth stretch to her through their bond, all-encompassing and so soothing, comfortable. "Everyone seems so happy."

"Eh," John shrugged. "Drugs and alcohol will do that."

Nora nudged him gently, "It's more than that, and you know it."

"The drugs definitely help," he insisted, grinning as she turned her head to glare at him. "I'm just teasing, sweets. I know that there is a whole lot to be said for feeling safe, and accepted. So long as they follow the rules, they gotta place t'stay. We give them jobs when we can, pay them, hopefully help them back on their feet..."

For all of his insistence, saying that he wasn't a good man, Nora was suddenly having a difficult time believing him. He overthrew a tyrant, started an uprising, and then created a safe haven, a place for people to call home. The glare she had shot at him turned soft, then lifted into a smile. As they approached an old entrance to the metro, music wafted into the evening air, crooning and sultry. They descended the steps, slow and casual. Some people were making their way out. They greeted John, friendly and drunkenly happy. Once down the stairs, there was a ghoul standing at one of the old metal detectors. He was tall, sharply dressed, and intimidating. 

"Mayor," the ghoul rasped in greeting, reaching up to tilt his hat. 

"Ham," John greeted. "Things good tonight?"

"Pretty quiet tonight, mayor."

"Glad t'hear it." The two briefly shook hands as John and Nora continued on inside. The music got louder, the lighting darker. Nora marveled at the scene; it was just like the old jazz clubs her and Nate would frequent when they first started dating. All neon lights, smooth music. There was a bar where a Mister Handy was serving drinks. Old couches, and cozy tables - this place was nostalgia incarnate, and Nora loved it. Though it only felt like a month, all of the nightmarish carnage she had witnessed and experienced made it feel like it had been a lifetime. 

There was a tentative curiosity that seeped through the bond, and she responded by sharing her happiness, her nostalgia. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze before guiding her to a spot at the bar. As soon as they were seated, the Mister Handy drifted in their direction.

"Order up, or forever hold yer Goddamn mouth shut."

Nora blanched, her eyes widening. She had anticipated a more Codsworth-esque sort of greeting, all pleasant and chipper. The Mister Handy unit in front of her was, apparently, quite crass. John chuckled from beside her.

"Don't take it personal. Ol' Charlie here is an asshole."

"Pot, kettle," the robot groused, and John's smile widened. 

"Charlie, this is Nora. Anything she wants, you put it on my tab, ya feel me?"

There was a loud scoff, as the robot's eye stocks swirled and twitched, "Like y'ever pay your own bill, ya cheap sonnova-"

"We'd like two orders of your world famous mirelurk cakes. I'll take a beer and..." John shifted on his stool, turning enough to place one of his feet against her stool's footrest. "What do ya want? Water, wine? Whiskey?"

Nora's gut instinct was to go for the water. There had been a number of occasions where she managed to find some well-preserved bottles of liquor and she always opted to leave it alone. Despite wanting to drink herself into a stupor, she didn't want to put herself at any more of a risk than she already was. But she had practically ached for wine, or her go-to Bloody Mary, anything to take some of the edge off. John must have felt her uncertainty. His hand pressed to her back, rubbing at her achy muscles reassuringly. 

"Pick whatever y'want, sweets. Y'got a safe place to sleep, a warm bed. Don't be afraid to reward yerself for kicking some ass, huh?"

Nora leaned her elbows against the bar, her brows furrowed before she eventually sighed, peering at the impatient Mister Handy. "Whiskey?"

"Was'at'a question?" The robot tutted.

Nora couldn't help but laugh, "I'll take a whiskey, please."

He drifted away to start on the order. 

With the crass old robot gone, Nora's gaze wandered. She surveyed some of the folks at the bar, then fell into watching the woman on stage. Her voice was sultry, smooth, and even Nora thought she was a bombshell with her tousled hair, and her smokey eyes. When she looked away, in John's direction, his eyes were glued to her - her, Nora, in her disgusting vault suit, with her hair that desperately needed a good washing, all tired and no makeup. 

When her eyes met his, the corner of his mouth lifted into a now familiar slanted smile. Their drinks were set down at the bar in front of them. Without breaking eye contact, John took a swig. Nora peered down into the cup, feeling shy under his intense gaze. She took a sip of the whiskey, and she basked in the spicy heat that burned her throat and warmed her belly. After her drink settled she met his gaze again, licking her lips as they began to tingle because of the alcohol. His dark eyes were glittering, and intense. 

"Nora?" 

"Huh?" 

His smile widened as he brought the bottle to his lips. He looked mischievous. "I asked how ya liked Goodneighbor."

"I like it a lot," she replied, swirling her drink around as the steaming plates of food were set down in front of them. "This is how everything used to be. Everything was all lit up, people were friendly, they danced and talked and... It really reminds me of home."

That mischievous smile softened, as he lifted his fork and started to cut open one of the fried cakes on his plate. She followed suit, stabbing into the cake and dragging it through the sauce on the corner of the plate. "Think y'can call Goodneighbor yer home someday?"

She put the bite of mirelurk in her mouth and almost groaned. The exterior was crunchy while the interior was somehow incredibly fluffy. It was hot, and spicy, there was a distinctly fish taste to it, and it all played nicely with the sauce. The sauce was zingy, sweet with a bit of a smokey after taste. Though there would never be a meal that could compete with the stew that she had had on during her first night at the Slog, this was was a close second. 

_"Ohmygod."_

John chuckled, raising his beer. Nora raised her whiskey. They clinked glasses. "I'll take that as a yes."


	31. 013. Alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long winded.   
> Pointless. 
> 
> ...   
> ...
> 
> Ahem.

013\. Alcohol

Alcohol was a social lubricant; it was liquid courage. Hancock had seen the stuffiest of folks practically transform into fun-loving social butterflies with a couple shots of the right drink. Different drinks had different effects for different people. For Hancock, wine would knock him on his ass. It didn't matter how many uppers he popped beforehand, if wine was involved he would be asleep within an hour. With beer he could start drinking from the moment he woke up, and he would be fine. A little tipsy, sure, but really no worse for wear. The harder stuff, like whiskey and vodka, made him a little daring and dangerous.

Whiskey made Nora happy. It made her a little giggly, and chatty, and it was the cutest thing Hancock had ever fucking seen. She very visibly fought for control, attempting to unscrew her smile, and keep herself quiet. Every so often she would take a deep steadying breath, she would get straight-faced, and calm - and it would only take a single comment to destroy the momentary control. Bit by bit, Hancock had gravitated towards the woman. It started with his foot on her stool, a casual claim for any onlookers who thought about chatting up the new girl in town. At some point he scooted closer to her. His thigh pressed to the back of her stool, his foot resting on the footrest to the back as opposed to the side. His aching arm curled around her back, while the other rested in front of her at the bar. It got to the point where he was practically surrounding her, and she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she had taken to leaning up against him, gripping his coat as she elapsed into giggles, pressing her face into his chest in an effort to quiet herself. 

After her giggle fit she reached to take a drink, bringing the glass to smiling lips only to find that it was empty. The frown was instantaneous, and she pushed the glass away as if it had offended her.

"Y'want another?" He wasn't sure how many bottles of shitty beer he had, and he really didn't care. Nora, however...

"H-heheh-how m'ny have I...?"

"I think you just finished round five."

"Oh, oh, I shou'n'," her words were slurred, and she was noticeably making attempts to correct her speech, but it was futile. The woman was already three sheets to the wind. 

"Not gonna be sick, are ya?"

She snickered, "I hope not!" She pressed her lips together, rolling them around like she had just applied lipstick. "M'lips 'r numb."

"Yeah?" He raised his hand from the bar. As his fingers zeroed in, Nora's eyes crossed. He gently prodded at her forehead. "Feel that?"

She closed her eyes, giggled, "Nuh uh."

"I think yer drunk, doll face," He told her, his voice low, as if he was telling her a secret. She leaned in, leveling her lips with his ear.

"I think y-yerriiiight," she giggled into his ear. 

Hancock closed his eyes, enjoying her closeness as her forehead pressed into his cheek. His grip on her tightened possessively, damn near pulling the woman into his lap. He wished he had settled them down at one of the couches instead of the bar. It would have been more comfortable, and it would have afforded him more closeness. 

"Think y'might be ready fer bed?"

"Oh, yessleep," she crowed, starting to push herself from the bench, visibly teetering after she found her footing. "Where'm I gonna sleep?"

Hancock stood, and steadied her, his hand slipping around her waist to anchor her towards him. "I got yer room ready when you were napping earlier."

If he was in better shape, Hancock would have opted to carry his drunken soulmate out of the bar and up the stairs. But he was a little too broken down for that sort of thing. Instead, he looped his good arm around his Nora, and carefully guided her to the stairs. With Hancock taking the lead, they managed to get up the stairs into the chilly evening. The streets had quieted, and outside of the occasional drunkard, they didn't run into anyone on their way back towards the State House. They defeated the stairs, Nora releasing whisper-yelled, "Woo!" Once they made it to the correct landing. 

Nora's bedroom was mostly empty. There was a bed shoved up against the wall, complete with pillows, and sheets, and blankets. There was a bedside table, and old trunk - and that was about it. It was a place to sleep and it would suffice for the evening. Hopefully, if Nora intended on staying in Goodneighbor, she would get comfortable enough to decorate her space. Hancock navigated his way to the bedside table, trying to find the box of matches that he had tossed in the drawer so he could light one of the candles in the room. Once the candle was lit, he turned to draw the covers back on the bed, but faltered as he caught sight of Nora.

Nora, standing in nothing but an old t-shirt, her suit and other personal effects discarded in a heap at the foot of the bed. She was just tugging her bra through one of her shirt sleeves, her hair loose and falling past her shoulders. Heat lanced through him, hotter than any fire. The woman had legs a mile long. Her skin was flawless, and he had the sudden desire to follow the curves of her waist with his tongue. As she crawled up the length of the bed, Hancock remained rooted in his place, his eyes gathering every detail they could; the sway of her breasts beneath the little t-shirt, the glorious curve of her ass, the delicate arch of her spine. Hancock watched helplessly as she pulled the covers back and slipped into bed. It was only once she was settled, her head on the pillow, eyes closed, when he trusted himself to move. 

"Goodnight, sweets," he rasped, slowly leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. Nora's hand reached out, briefly grasping his.

"Yer so nice't'me."

He smiled softly as her eyelids fluttered open. He brushed her hair back from her forehead. "Well, I'm pretty damn fond of ya." 

She released his hand, and then reached up to brush her delicate fingers over his cheek. She caressed her cheekbone, the length of his jaw. It was feather-light, barely touching at all, and yet the breath was seemingly knocked from his lungs. There was more searing heat, lancing for places that he wished it wouldn't. This was the start of most of his fantasies, painfully soft touches, tentative and exploratory. Soon, she would be caressing the column of his neck with her sweet touch, then his chest. But then it all stopped, her hand falling to the mattress.

“G’night, John.”

Hancock moved from the bed slowly, blowing out the candle on his way out. He closed the door behind him then hurried to his room, the next room over, before he tried something that one of them would end up regretting. He undressed, and crawled into bed. It smelled like Nora, which did absolutely nothing to help with his, uh… predicament. He stared into the darkness of the bedroom, hands fisted in the blankets. 

It was going to be a long night. 

Waiting things out didn’t soothe the ache in his loins, and when that didn’t work, his mind started to wander. He thought of his Nora, the way she crawled up the length of the bed, the way she would have looked crawling towards him with her bright eyes, and one of her slow smiles. He thought about the way she had touched him, exploring him. A groan left him, grating and rough as he fisted his cock. He pumped himself once, twice, then tore his hand away almost fitfully. Before Nora came along, he would have gone to bed sated. Though he hadn’t had any real lasting relationships, there was always someone who wanted to fuck the Mayor, whether it was for drugs or a place to stay. After Nora, he had avoided other women’s company as he had been wildly hopeful that she would accept him, that his loyalty would be noticed and maybe even appreciated. 

So far, it got him a lot of lonely nights, working himself to a finish as he fantasized about the woman in the next room. It was all worth it, though. The way she had leaned into him at the bar, happy and laughing, smiling up at him. The way her breath fanned over his fucked up skin as she whispered into his ear… 

His fingertips dragged over his swollen girth before he could stop himself. His hips bucked into the air, lifting off of the bed before settling back into place. Hancock slapped his hands to the mattress. 

How long had it been since he left her room? Five minutes? Twenty? Was she even asleep yet?

Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.


	32. 047. Blush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't go as expected, either.

047\. Blush

The room was still a little lopsided when Nora woke up. It was also dark. She stretched her legs to the foot of the bed, turned and pressed her stomach into the mattress, her head slipping off of the surprisingly plush pillow. She laid like that for a handful of minutes, wishing she had a bottle of water at her bedside. Her mouth was dry, her tongue felt like sandpaper. After a handful of moments she shifted to her side, her arm curling around the pillow. The room around her tilted dangerously, and she quickly flipped over to her back, pushing one of her legs out from the covers, and planting her foot on the cold wooden floor. That helped the room settle into its rightful stillness, but even then she seemed to have a problem drifting to sleep. 

Water might help, but she didn't have any on hand. There might be some in John's office, or she could run down to the bar to get some. She'd have to get dressed for either one of those adventures. Slowly, she crawled to the foot of the bed, then flopped to her stomach to blindly search for her Pip-Boy. After slapping at the floor a handful of times, she found the device and it lit up the room like wicked green lightning during a rad storm. Nora cringed, pressing her face into the mattress. When she chanced a look at the device again, it was easier to stare at. The clock on the screen indicated that it was 1:17AM. As sluggish as she felt, it would be a real accomplishment just getting her vault suit back on. 

Before she put the effort into getting back into the god awful suit, she reached for John through their bond. She didn't want to go rooting around in his office if she could help it, and she didn't want to take the trip all the way back to The Third Rail if there was water close by. She could only hope that, maybe, he was still awake.

The moment the connection was established, Nora's body was awash with pleasure. Her jaw unhinged in a silent moan, her eyes closing as her back arched and her hips rolled forward, pushing her pelvis into the mattress. Her center pulsed, and quivered, her toes curled. Before a moan could make it's way from her throat she pressed her face into the bed.

In the dark, John released a soft, needy moan. 

She could feel his hips lifting off of his bed, could feel the movement of his cock against her palm. Her fingers curled, fisting the phantom girth. The coil of tension in her loins tightened, her hips rolling into the mattress to match the tempo of his thrusts. It wasn't enough, though, if anything it was only teasing. To get the friction right where she wanted it, she had to pivot her hips and spread her thighs to the point where it nearly hurt. She pushed herself to her knees, then turned to the other end of the bed. The little voice in the back of her head, the voice that belonged to sober Nora, begged her to reconsider what she was doing even as she folded the pillow in half and straddled it. The little voice insisted, telling her to at least close off the bond so John wouldn't find out.

But John's pleasure was mixing with hers, fueling the urge to find completion. The friction of his cock in her palm was tantalizing, and it helped her set her pace as she thrust against the firmness of the pillow. Her hands grasped the old iron bed frame as she rocked, following John's lead. 

The little voice continued, informing drunk Nora that what she was doing was a blatant invasion of John's privacy. John. The man who had been the epitome of patience and kindness since the night she had crawled out of the vault. He deserved more consideration, surely. That didn't matter either, because he was picking up the pace, his rough voice whispering her name. 

Nora rocked her hips back, mashing her simpering sex against the pillow, grinding against it like she was a cat in heat. She could hear the sound of skin slapping skin as his actions became a bit more forceful, more urgent. One of her hands moved from the bed frame to cup her breast through her shirt. She pinched at her nipple, giving it a rough twist just as she was rocking upwards. The aching pleasure blossomed. Her back arched, and a broken sob left her.

Nora felt John's entire body jerk, the friction in her palm vanished completely, and her own tempo faltered, becoming frantic and messy. She mewled John's name desperately. 

_"Nora, stop-"_ Another thrust, her sopping panties dragging over the pillow. She applied more weight, crushing it beneath her, adding more pressure to her throbbing clit as she writhed. The silence between them was filled with her gasping, shuddering breaths. _"You aren't ready for this..."_

"Feel me," she said breathlessly. "I'm ready." She lifted herself off of the pillow, sliding her hand into her panties to finger her clit. The direct contact made her hips snap forward, her back arching just before her index and middle finger slid into her wet heat. Her pussy pulsed, briefly gripping her fingers. 

John moaned, _"Fuck, Nora, yer killin' me."_

"Please." Her request was punctuated by a purposeful roll of her hips, impaling herself on her fingers. She crooked her digits, stroking her walls.

_"Honey, you have no idea how bad I want you,"_ came the rasping whisper. _"If I thought you were ready for me, we wouldn't be doin' this separate rooms bullshit. You'd be with me..."_

"Yeah?" She whispered breathlessly.

_"Why don't you lay back for me..."_

Nora was off of her pillow and on her back in a flesh. She was stretched out on her back, resting in top of the covers with the soiled pillow discarded and on the floor. After she was situated, she started to reach into her panties, but John gently rebuked her. Instead, she placed her hands at her sides, eyes closing as she waited for him to continue. Through the bond, Nora felt John get situated. He adjusted his pillows, adjusted his blankets so they gathered at his waist. After what felt like ages of waiting, there was contact. 

Under her fingertips, she could feel divots, harsh grooves and dips in his flesh, the contours of muscles and bone. She could feel the roughness of his fingers caressing the length of her collarbone. 

"John-"

_"Sssh."_

"But-"

_"Baby, relax."_ The fleeting touch traveled down between her breasts, down the plane of her stomach before skirting around her navel. Those feathery touches moved to her outer thighs, her ribs, arms, neck. John's touch was attentive, soothing and soft. Her body became heavier, and the aching heat she felt diminished until it was completely nonexistent. Eventually, with the help of John's touch, Nora drifted to sleep.

-

Something was tickling her nose. When she turned her head and pressed her face into the mattress the ticklish sensation moved to her ear. With a grunt, she flung her hand at the source, only succeeding in slapping herself in the head. The sensation was jarring, rattling her brain. The pulsing ache behind her eyes bloomed, and another grown raked its way through her dry throat. Her mouth was dry as a desert, and she really had to pee. But she was afraid to move, afraid that any movement would anger the beast of a headache that made it hard to open her eyes. 

"Hey there, party animal," John drawled, his voice tinged with amusement. 

"Nngh."

"Oh, yer telling me," he snickered. "Thought I would bring y'some water, and maybe some breakfast if y'can stomach it."

"Bathroom?"

John directed her to the bathroom. There was, thankfully, a mostly functioning toilet on the upper floor of the State House. Nora didn't bother putting on the vault suit. Instead, she wrapped herself in her blanket and padded off to take care of business. On her way back into the room, she shoulder-checked the doorframe. John, who had been loitering near a now opened window with a cigarette in his hand turned his attention towards her. 

"Fuck, baby. If looks could kill. Why don't you lay down. You might be ridin' this hangover for a bit. Want a bit of the hair of the dog that bit ya? How about breakfast?"

There was a bottle of liquor on her bedside table, along with a plate of what looked to be some kind of meat, and tatos.

As she made her way back to the bed, she slowed to grab the pillow from the floor... only for the night before to come rushing back, full force. Her eyes bulged, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Her eyes shot from the pillow to John. He held a bottle of water in his hand, holding it out towards her expectantly. She reached to accept the bottle then settled back on to the bed. 

As they shared the food he had brought in, John didn't mention what had happened the night before.

And neither did she.


	33. 081. Dramatic

081\. Dramatic

There was no amount of chems that could alleviate Hancock's anger. Alcohol wouldn't either. Actually, alcohol would only push him towards the tipping point. Despite MacCready's ranting and raving, Hancock thought Red Menace was a stupid fucking game, and as he died for the millionth goddamn time he decided it was also the worst game ever fucking made. He had been working at the game for over an hour, and he had yet to breach the high score list. The ten names on the list belonged to MacCready for the most part, with Nora's initials at the very bottom. And the little shit had taken the time to write a lovely message for Nora on the scoreboard as he went: 

1\. RJ  
2\. RJ  
3\. RJ  
4\. HA  
5\. YOU  
6\. LOS  
7\. E  
8\. I  
9\. WIN  
10\. NJM

Hancock wasn't entirely sure how long it took the little idiot to create the message, but the moment he saw it, he wanted to wreck it. Not because MacCready was teasing his Nora. It was all in good fun, after all. No, Hancock had a desperate need to dethrone the little bastard so he could leave a message of his own. Getting his name on the board was proving a monumental challenge, and the more he played the angrier he got and he just didn't want to fucking play anymore. In fact, he was awfully close to torching the Pip-Boy all together. One more ill-timed jump, and Hancock threw the device to the other end of the couch. It bounced off of the arm, then clattered to the ground. Once he was free of the device he lurched towards the coffee table to snag a partially smoked cigarette from an ash tray, and his lighter. 

Mid inhale, there was a loud shriek of sound that was borderline deafening, and then a male's voice filtered into the room, accompanied by the soft cooing of a child. The voice was a deep baritone that reminded Hancock of booming thunder. It was a voice that would command attention, but it was soft, loving.

_"... Little fingers away. There we go..."_

It was Nate, and little baby Shaun. Hancock discarded the cigarette, abandoning it back in the ashtray as he moved to retrieve the Pip-Boy. There was an insistent need to turn the tape off, to silence the man who had come before him. Hancock's feelings for Nate were a mess, and they had been for some time. There was a respect there, sure, but there was also a whole lotta loathing. The man had come first. He had set the bar for Hancock, and in that regard Nathan Morrison was Hancock's competition. His thumb hovered over the STOP button, but he hesitated.

_"Hi, honey! Listen, I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a mother you are... But we're going to anyway."_

Hancock didn't want to be competing with Nate, though. Instead, he had been desperately trying to convince himself that they were partners. Nathan Morrison could be Hancock's greatest ally. Without Nate, Nora would have never made it to him at all. The man had looked out for Nora for a chunk of her life, and then the torch was passed to him. 

_"... and you'll shake the dust off of your law degree. But everything we do, no matter how hard, we do it for our family. Now say goodbye, Shaun. Say 'bye-bye'. Bye, honey. We love you."_

The tape began to rewind. A heaviness settled in Hancock's chest. He hoisted himself from the couch, leaving the Pip-Boy on the coffee table. He figured it would advantageous for himself to accept Nate as a part Nora's life, as well as his own. The only one pitting Hancock against Nate was Hancock. The Pip-Boy clicked loudly when the tape was finished rewinding. Hancock pushed play, and listened to the message again. Nate didn't have to be his very own personal villain. They were comrades. Partners. Their souls shared the same counter part - maybe they shared the same soul. Hell, they might as well be brothers. 

He would have to get to know Nate better, he decided. When he next got the chance, he would ask Nora to tell him more about Nate. That might take a while, though. Nora seemed wholly unwilling to stay in the same room with him for longer than 30 minutes. Nora, now sober and clear-headed, was wildly embarrassed about what had happened the night before. Neither of them mentioned it, but the blush that creeped down into her vault suit said everything. She had a hard time looking him in the eye, too. They shared brief glances before she looked away - focusing on anything but him. Even with their shared silence regarding the subject matter, Hancock knew that she wasn't mad at him. Quite the contrary; if anything she seemed more apologetic. 

Hancock wanted to tell her that there was no need for her to apologize. He had felt her pleasure mix with his own and it had been nearly surreal; phantom friction stimulating parts of him that he didn't have. He imagined that she felt the same thing. On top of it all, he felt her silken heat wrapping around his fingers. She was so wet, and exquisite, and so responsive. She was begging prettily. And she was drunk off her ass. If Hancock hadn't managed to keep himself under control he would have gone to her room and fucked her six ways from Sunday. But then he imagined that the apologetic glances would lean a bit more towards regret - and he didn't want her to regret anything. Not with him. He had scene enough of that type of shit in his life, and he didn't want to see it coming from his soulmate. It'd break his heart. 

In the meantime, they probably needed to address the yaoguai in the room. He reached to his woman through their bond. The room around him faded as the image of the innards of a crumbling building overlaid his office space. There was soft sobbing, and as he focused on Nora's surroundings, he could see a woman curled into Nora's arms, her face pressed into his soulmate's chest. Nora's fingers carded through greasy hair, and a soft melodic tune drifted across his consciousness. 

_"Th-they ruined me. I can never-I..."_

__The humming stopped. _"Have you talked to the doctor about your options? There might be some way..."_

_"Like I can afford it. I have nothing to my name - I don't know how I am ever going to pay back that ghoul-"_

_"His name is-"_

_"- on top of that, I'm already indebted to the Doctor. Addictol isn't cheap. Maybe he should have just left us there."_

Hancock watched as Nora recoiled, and he felt an explosive shockwave of anger. His eyes widened as Nora extracted herself from the woman, stood, and turned to face her. 

_"Shut up._

_"You don't-"_

_"No. You listen here. First of all, that_ man _that saved your life? He has a name. It's John Hancock, and he risked his life to save your ungrateful butt. You've been through a lot, and I get that. You have every right to be upset. But to say that he should have just left you in that hell hole because you might accumulate a little debt? That's... that's bullshit. Now get up. We're going back inside."_

Hancock stuck around just long enough for Nora to exit the building she was in. Without turning back to see if her companion was following, she approached the gates to Goodneighbor. Once he dropped contact, he found himself leaving his office. He took the stairs two at a time, blazing past the couple of loitering members of the Neighborhood Watch. Once he was outside, he turned to approach the gate so he could wait for Nora, but his attention snapped towards Fahrenheit. The woman looked irate, stalking away from the gate and past Daisy and KL-E-0's. Hancock followed, catching up with her easily. 

He hadn't seen Fahrenheit since he had left to go take care of Cecil. In his absence she had decided to tag along with Finn to take care of some bandits that were impeding on Goodneighbor turf. They had trudged back into town earlier that day. 

"Somethin' on yer mind, Fahr?"

The woman practically snarled, "When are you going to do something about Finn?"

Hancock grabbed her arm gently, slowing her to a stop. Had he been anyone else, he would have likely been backhanded for touching the irate woman - but they were partners. 

"Still a problem, huh?"

"He's a bigger problem, now."

He inwardly cursed. He had hoped that the problem with Finn would have waited until the whole issue with Cecil had blown over, but of course he wouldn't be so lucky. According to Fahrenheit, he was gaining a bit of a following, picking up steam. It was a shame, too. Maybe if he would have addressed the situation immediately, they could have found a common ground. Maybe they would have talked shit out or-

He flinched when there was a sudden pain in his wrist. There was a vice-like pressure surrounding the joint, and then Finn's low voice clawed its way through his head. 

_"- 'r you're gonna have accidents. Big. Bloody. Accidents."_

Hancock saw red. The sound of his own pulse pounded in his ears as he slowly turned his head. There, only a few yards away, was his Nora and the woman she had been trying to console. Finn was in front of them, gripping Nora's wrist in one of his hands. Though there was a grimace on her features, her eyes were steely, and burning like acid. Fahrenheit turned, following his gaze. The look of barely contained anger morphed into surprise.

_"Is that a threat?"_

_"Oh, sweetheart. It's a fuckin' promise."_

Hancock started forward, his eyes narrowed into slits. "The fuck did I tell you about laying off that extortion crap?"

There was a snort, and Finn looked over his shoulder at him. The hand at Nora's wrist visibly tightened. She winced, her free hand reaching to pry the fingers away. It hurt. He could feel Nora's pain radiating throughout his wrist. She would definitely have a bruise later. 

"What do you care? She ain't one of us." Finn turned his attention back to Nora, disregarding Hancock entirely. His eyes went to Nora, and her eyes met his as she gave her arm a tug. Fahr asked when he was going to do something about Finn, and as he slipped his hand down to the hilt of a Bowie knife he decided that there was really no time like the present. 

"Close yer eyes, love."

There was no hesitation. Her eyes closed immediately. Just as Finn was turning his attention back to Hancock, the blade of the knife dove into the base of his back, right into his spine. The woman with Nora screamed, and ran while Nora remained still as a statue, eyes remaining closed. Hancock's arm wrapped around Finn's neck, holding him in place as he yelled his pain. 

"That's my soulmate, you fuck," he hissed into Finn's ear. The knife slid free, then entered again, and again, and again. Finn's body sagged. Hancock released him. Finn fell to the ground with a wet thud, finally relinquishing his grip on Nora's wrist. Hancock knelt briefly, cleaning the blade off of his knife on Finn's coat before returning it to its sheath. He stood to his full height, and stepped over Finn's body. His hands found Nora's stiff shoulders. The tension eased as she exhaled. As he reached for her through their bond, he felt a lingering panic.

"Hey, stranger."

Her lips quirked just enough to smile weakly. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. That sense of panic slipped away into something akin to comfort. "Hi."

Hancock reached for her wrist, glaring down at the swatch of reddened skin. It was most definitely going to bruise. He wanted to turn and stab Finn again - right in his smug fucking face. 

"Calm down," Nora implored, taking a step towards him. Any closer and she would have been pressed against him. It wouldn't take much to close the space, but he resisted. Instead, he leaned his head down to press his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes. "Everything is fine."

"I felt him grabbing you and-"

"I know," she murmured. "I felt your anger."   
One of her hands pressed to his chest, above his racing heart, while the other cupped the back of his neck. If ghouls could purr. "But you took care of him. You saved my butt again." 

Hancock felt her emotions mingling with his own, easing the red-hot anger into something more manageable. He cupped the hand that was over his heart, holding it in place as he gradually relaxed. 

"That's better," she whispered. He opened his eyes, black meeting green. 

He wished he still had his nose. He could have bumped his against hers, and it probably would have been real cute but, well, c'est la vie... whatever the fuck that meant. 

"C'mon," he rasped, slowly extracting himself from her. He held onto the hand at his chest. Together, they stepped over Finn's corpse, and made their way towards Fahrenheit, who was smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "Let's go, Fahr," he said as they passed. 

"That was a little dramatic, wasn't it?"

"Shuddup," he drawled. "Or yer gonna pay for yer own drinks."

Fahr snorted, falling into step beside Nora as she stomped out her cigarette. "The fuck I will."

They went to Third Rail where they took up a table. MacCready and Dog joined them. Hancock pushed his chair close to Nora, his arm draped casually over the back of her seat on one side of the table, with MacCready and Fahrenheit occupying the other side. Dog took up residence at Nora's feet, his head in her lap. As they shared their meal, Hancock couldn't help but feel a sense of completion. The Mayor gig was good and all, but this shit was next level. He had his soulmate, he had his fucked up little family, complete with the family pet. All that was missing was the white picket fence.


	34. 001. Mellow

001\. Mellow

It had been over a week since they had made it to Goodneighbor, and Nora had already found herself falling into a bit of a routine. In the mornings, her and John would have breakfast together in the quiet of the State House. They would take part in idle chatter, talking about their odd dreams and the one spring in Nora's bed that always managed to find her spine. After breakfast, she would go find MacCready and take Dog off of his hands for a while. They would go for a walk, and play a bit of fetch in the street before Nora would go to Daisy's to help set up shop. 

Nora liked Daisy. The two hit it off immediately, gossiping about things that were no longer relevant. The old ghoul leant Nora a couple of overdue library books, and Nora delighted in reading all of them. Bradbury, Stoker, Carroll - Daisy had been a fan of the classics. Reading had fell into her routine. Every night, Nora would stretch out on one of the couches in John's office, and he would join her. The first couple of nights, he had sat on the end of the couch with her feet in his lap. After a bit of coaxing, her silver tongued soulmate convinced her to read out loud while his fingers kneaded at her calves, and the arches of her feet. Nearing the end of the week, she would read out loud with her head in his lap, and his fingers drifting through her hair. 

John had been the one to clear the air between them after her drunken incident. After dinner the night he had stabbed that jerk in the street, they had returned to the State House to get some sleep. Nora had abstained from drinking anything aside from water with dinner, absolutely mortified at the mere possibility of making a repeat performance. John noticed, because of course he would. He offered sips of his drinks, and outside of a taste of an awful concoction that he claimed was a Bloody Mary, she had stuck with the water. It was later, as he was walking her to her room, when he addressed the issue. 

"You ever gonna stop lookin' guilty, doll?" He had been so blunt that she nearly choked on her own saliva. She stood in front of the door to her bedroom, a blush rising to her cheeks as she peered down the hall - away from him. "Y'ain't got nothin' t'be sorry about."

Though had Nora disagreed, their brief talk lifted the weight from her shoulders. Airing out the laundry had given her a sense of ease regarding the matter. Before departing for the evening, he had leaned in, his hands finding her hips as he pressed his lips to her cheek. He departed with a flourish; a tilt of the hat, a wink of the eye. After getting over that hurdle, being with John was easy. The morning breakfasts, the "family" dinners, the nightly reading. 

Their soulbond made things easier or, perhaps, more difficult. There was a big part of Nora that felt as though the amount of time that had been dedicated to mourning Nate's death had been insufficient. How long had it been? Surely it hadn't been enough time. But the more time she spent with John, the more her heart started to open up to him. Arlen had insisted that her heart was plenty big enough for both, and she was certain that she wouldn't fall in love with John before she was ready, but it was hard not to second guess herself.

Nora liked John. A lot. With his crooked smirks, and his bewitching eyes and his silver tongue. He made her laugh, made her smile. He challenged her while also making her feel safe. Everything he did seemed to endear himself to her and, despite his insistence to the contrary, John McDonough was a good man. He could be quite vicious, sure, but he was a product of the world he had grown up in. He helped people, he fought for them when they couldn't fight for themselves and he'd kill anyone that got in his way.

He had started asking about Nate, too. And that earned him plenty of brownie points. John could have very easily swept Nate under the rug and forgot about him, but one night, he had asked about him. They were in their respectable rooms, comfortable and ready for bed, having one of their talks. It was another one of their routines. After reading, and getting ready for bed, they would speak to one another in the comfort on their own beds. John breached the subject slowly and there was a bit of tension in his voice as he tested the waters. The more John learned, the more that tension eased, and soon he was talking about Nate like they had been old friends. It tugged at Nora's heart strings. 

It was going to be hard when she left. As comfortable as she was, as much as she liked her routine, and the people, and Goodneighbor it was time for her to leave. She had spent enough time doing nothing. It was time she went and found her son. The problem would be telling John. She had been waiting for the opportunity to tell him for the past two days, but she was stalling. One night, Nora decided to gather her courage and take the plunge. 

They had already turned in for the night, tucked away in their rooms after reading a few chapters of Alice in Wonderland. She felt like a coward, not speaking to John face-to-face, but it was better than nothing. Or it would have, if John hadn't beat her to the punch. Nora had just slipped into bed when John spoke. 

_"You gonna tell me what's got ya wound up so tight, sweets?"_

Nora frowned, huffing softly as she glared into the darkness of her bedroom. Of course he would know.

 _"Don't get upset. I didn't have to dig around your emotions t'figure out somethin' was up. Yer easy to read,"_ he said smugly. 

"I... I think it's..." she swallowed, worried her lower lip. "I think it's time for me to go and find Shaun."

_"Okay. So when do you wanna leave?"_

Nora relaxed. She had expected a bit of a fight. "Soon? Sooner the better, obviously, but I would have to get some things together. I don't have a whole lot of caps but-"

_"Give me two days, okay?"_

"What for?"

_"Two days. That gives me time to get Fahrenheit up to speed on things."_

"You don't have to-" There was a loud sigh that cut her off, and then she heard rustling blankets, the sound of clothing. "You've done enough and-"

Her bedroom door opened. She flinched as the hinges groaned. Her eyes opened and she sat up. She groped for her Pip-Boy for a handful of seconds. When she clicked the light on, John was approaching her bedside. He was only wearing his pants, which were sitting awfully low on his hips. It was her first time seeing him in any state of undress. His skin was mottled everywhere, sunken against his frame, making him look slim - but where there was muscle, it was harshly defined, very prominent. 

"Scoot."

She did, shifting to one side of the mattress. John drew back the blanket then slipped into the bed beside her. He rolled to his side, facing her. All she could see was his silhouette against the green light. Nora settled into her side of the bed, resting on her side to face him. He found one of her hands in the dark, lacing their fingers together. 

"I don't want you to feel obligated to-"

"Obligated?" He sighed heavily, gripping her hand a little tighter. "Nora, you know I care about you, right? I'd do anything for you."

Nora frowned in the dark. "I'm serious."

He growled softly, before scooting in closer. He released her hand, to palm her hip. "I know you are." His hand slid from her hip to her lower back, rubbing slow circles against into her muscles. "You ain't going alone, though. I can't sit by 'n' watch people try t'hurt you, Nora. Don't ask me to do that again."

She nodded slowly, despite the niggling guilt. She shifted a little closer, enjoying the closeness. Her foot brushed his pants before finding bare ankle, then the top of his foot, her hand came to rest against his chest while the other tucked beneath her chin. She traced the contours of his pectoral with her thumb, idly exploring. 

"If you don't want me to go, you can take MacCready..."

"No," she murmured, her legs tangling with his. "I want to be with you. I just don't want to take you from Goodneighbor if-"

He chuckled, "Baby, Fahr will run this place with an iron fist. Trust me." His fingers slid beneath the covers, beneath her shirt, and dragged up her spine, kneading and caressing as he went. Soon, Nora found herself pressing against John's body, her head tucked beneath his chin, their limbs tangled. Her eye lids felt heavy, she was comfortable and warm and safe. 

"Goodnight, love," John whispered, his lips pressing to the top of her head. 

Nora snuggled closer as she began to drift off, "Goodnight, John."

-

When Nora woke up the next morning she was surprised that John was still in her bed. She was even more surprised when she found herself holding the poor man hostage. Her soulmate was stretched out on his back, and Nora had practically plastered herself to him. Her head was on his chest, her arm wrapping around him and holding him close. Her leg was almost coiled around one of his. Meanwhile, John's arm was wrapped around her back, his hand holding her shoulder as if he was keeping her in place. The poor man's arm was probably asleep, too. 

Slowly, hoping to avoid disturbing him, Nora began to extract herself from John's body. Her leg went first. She gingerly removed it from his person. When she reached to move his hand from her shoulder, he stretched. It was slow, and languid. She could feel the muscles contract and tense before he relaxed again. His eyes opened, and immediately caught her gaze. The hand on her shoulder moved into her hair, pushing it back from her face. 

"Well, lookit you. I must still be dreaming," he drawled, his eyes closing as a tired grin tugged at his lips. 

"Sorry for, uh... " she shifted away from him, but he followed her, closing what little distance she had made between them. 

"Didn't peg you for that much of a snuggler."

"You could have woke me up." 

"You kiddin' me? Baby, I'd spoon with you all day if you'd let me."

Nora snorted, "Sure."

"I'm serious!" He leaned over her, pressing his lips to her forehead, then her cheek. Nora closed her eyes, finding that she enjoyed the affection. "I'd even let you be the big spoon."

His fingers suddenly prodded her ribs. She squealed, jolting away. Before she could even think about retaliating, he was out of the bed, and on his way out the door. Two days. Two more days and they would set out to find her boy. 

Though she expected to feel anxious, knowing that John would be with her set her mind at ease.


	35. 026. Languid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter.  
> Not sorry. Because reasons.

026\. Languid 

 

Two days went by in a flash.

The very first thing he did, was let Fahrenheit in on the situation. Though Nora had worried on a number of occasions that Fahr hated her, Fahr was actually quite fond of his soulmate. So when Hancock approached the woman and informed her that he was going to go with Nora to find her kid, he was not at all surprised to see a softness in her eyes, and a small quirk of a smile just before it all vanished under that stony facade. Fahrenheit accepted the mayoral duties, listening as Hancock reviewed things that she likely already knew. He walked her through the books, the files in his terminal, and even where he kept the good liquor in his office. After giving Fahr an incredibly abridged walk through, he went and paid K-L-E0 a visit. Ammo was purchased, along with a rifle. He trusted himself to keep Nora safe, but he'd would rather not be up the ass of a suicidal super mutant before realizing that shit was about to go sideways. Mutants were crawling all over the Fens. If they had a chance to pick their enemies off at a safe distance, then he'd take the opportunity to do so. He gathered other supplies too; food rations, meds, chems. He scrounged up a bed roll, and a blanket. Aside from gathering supplies, which didn't take long at all, he spent his days shadowing Fahrenheit. His evenings were spent with Nora. 

After spending the night in her room, Hancock had gently coaxed Nora to stay the following two nights in his room, with him.

The first night, she was a little tense. She tried to stay her distance, occupying the space that he had designated as hers, ages ago. Hancock was given another chance to enact his innocent fantasies of slowly drawing her into his arms with soft touches, and even softer words. He took the opportunity to act, and Nora had responded beautifully. Just as Hancock had imagined, Nora gravitated towards him. Her emotions read in warming notes of comfort, happiness, and affection. As he drew her in closer, Nora explored his skin. She shared his pillow, looking into his eyes with a half-lidded, sleepy gaze. 

"Does it hurt?" She asked, her index finger tracing the mangled skin that barely concealed his collarbone. 

"Used to," he replied, his palm drifting over the tantalizing curve of her waist before settling at her hip. "Some places don't have much feeling at all, now. Others are sensitive, but not painful."  
When her eyebrows furrowed, her took her hand, taking her on a guided tour of his neck, and shoulders. 

"Right here," he rasped, dragging her hand over the curve of his shoulder, to his upper back "Not much. I can only really feel it if you apply some pressure." Then he guided her hand to his neck, carefully dragging her fingertips over the swell of his Adam's apple. He could feel the warmth and the softness of her skin. A soft sigh left him, "This spot here... it's a little sensitive."

"So if I was going to rub your shoulders..."

"Oh, honey, you'd have to really let me have it."

There was a soft laugh, "Noted." 

He wanted her to ask where the other sensitive places on his body were, and he so badly wanted to show her or, better yet, tell her to find out for herself. But she didn't ask, and he didn't push his luck. 

The second night, Nora barely even let him get settled before she was scooting into his space. Her hair was still damp from her bath. It had been brushed through a few times, but without any soaps, conditioners, or oils it was starting to get a little frizzy. She was clad in one of his shirts that fell down to mid-thigh, and an old pair of boxers. Nora tucked herself against him, her icy feet pressing against his calves. Though he was more comfortable sleeping in the buff, he decided to wear a pair of boxers to bed, too. Anything was better than sleeping in pants. The length of her legs rubbed up against his, chilled but so blissfully soft. He growled softly, pushing his nose into her hair, tugging her flush against his body. 

"I see how it is," he rasped. "You're just using me for my warmth."

Her forehead pressed against the base of his throat, "You got me," she snickered, nuzzling in close, pressing her nose against his clavicle. 

"That's all I'm good for," he lamented dramatically. "Body heat."

"I guess I like you a little bit," she said with a heavy sigh that was all for show. "Just a little, though." 

Hancock pulled away, shifting away from her, releasing her from his hold. Nora pouted as he settled on the edge of the bed, "Well, if it's only a little..."

She followed him, slipping right up against his side, "Oh, come on. I like you more than a little bit." She punctuated the statement with a kiss to one cheek, and then the other. When his arm coiled around her waist, she allowed him to tug her in close - only to yelp when he rolled, pushing her to the mattress beneath him. 

"More than a little?" He held his weight above her, one arm pinned beneath her back, while his hand settled on the mattress near her shoulder. 

"A lot," she admitted, her voice sounding small. Her eyes were big, doe eyes as she gazed up at him. 

A quick peak into her emotions sent his heart fluttering in his chest. There was the curious feeling of anticipation, like she was waiting for him to do something - and by the way her heart was beating, he had a pretty good hunch as to what exactly she wanted. It was their last night in Goodneighbor. They were going to be leaving bright and early the next day to find her boy. It was likely going to be the last time for a good long while that they were going to be tucked away, nice and safe and clean for the night. 

He dipped his head down, his mouth brushing her chin, and then another to her cheek. Her heart hammered beside his, and, at such a close proximity, he could see her pulse leap in her neck. His lips found the corner of her mouth. Hancock stayed focused on her emotions, trying to detect any sort of uncertainty, but there was none. There was a yearning curiosity, a breathless anticipation. His lips found hers, soft and sweet and hesitant. Nora pursed her lips just slightly, kissing him back. Hancock kissed his soulmate again, catching that pouty lower lip between both of his. Then again, giving it a suckle and a careful nibble. She closed her eyes, quietly gasping as her hands slid up his arms. Ever the opportunist, Hancock dipped his tongue into her mouth and she met him. At the barest of contact, heat seared and pooled in the base of his abdomen, parts of him suddenly ached, parts that he didn't have. A moan tore from Nora's throat as his tongue curled around hers, stroking and caressing, coaxing another moan and a soft gasp from the woman beneath him.

Hancock wanted to press himself against her so he could feel every inch of her body. He wanted to hook her legs around his waist so she cradled him between her lovely thighs. He wanted to taste more than her tongue; he wanted to feast on every inch of her, tasting and teasing. He wanted more soft moans, and needy gasps. 

As he stroked the length of her tongue, he rolled his hips against hers. His growing erection pressing against her heat. The sudden sensation made her toes curl against his legs, and her back arched. With all of the warmth, and electric pleasure he felt there was a sudden shot of uncertainty. He lifted himself on his knees, removing his lower body from hers as he dragged the kiss to its end. A sultry stroke of the tongue, a suckle to her upper lip, then a fleeting bite that was laved with his tongue. Her lips were parted, and they were looking particularly pouty. Her eyes opened slowly, peering up at him, looking dazed. Her cheeks were flushed, and it was spreading down her neck, vanishing under her shirt. When her eyes drifted closed, and a slow smile lit her features he couldn't help but nip at her lower lip. 

"Yer so fucking beautiful," he growled. He kissed her again, and again and her smile grew. One last kiss, and he sighed, "You all warm yet, baby?" When she didn't immediately reply, he ducked down further, dragging his teeth along the underside of her jaw, down along her neck. "Or should I keep going?" 

Nora swatted his shoulder, and he withdrew, flopping down onto the mattress. He was grinning like an idiot, and he couldn't stop for the life of him. He was feeling particularly happy, and with his end of the bond open, he could feel her happiness, too. Once he was settled, Nora wiggled up against his side, tucking herself against him. 

Despite the fact that he was tuned in to her feelings, he still found himself asking, "Was that okay...?"

With her head on his shoulder, Nora tilted her head to peer up at him. "You fishing for compliments?" She asked good naturedly, lips still kiss-swollen and up-turned in a smile. She rolled to her stomach so she could meet his gaze. "I knew you had a silver tongue, but-"

Hancock snorted, covering her mouth with his hand. She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively. "Yer a fuckin’ riot.”

As they settled in for bed, as Nora’s head settled against his chest, as her hand came to rest over his heart he found himself realizing that he really didn’t want to leave. Who knew when they were going to be in an actual bed together. He knew that Nora wanted to find her boy, and he wanted that for her more than anything but he was going to fucking miss these moments they shared tucked away in bed. They would be heading to Diamond City tomorrow, bright and early. Hancock just hoped that Nick would be able to work his magic.


	36. 023. Worst Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait.  
> Sorry for the shitty chapter. 
> 
> So many sorries.
> 
> I wrote this chapter five different times. Three of those times featured a whole lotta citrus, but this seemed like the better approach.

023\. Worst Day

 

"Fuck, Nick. How the hell were you gonna get outta that one, huh?"

It had been a terrible day. An absolutely terrible day. In fact, terrible was an absolute understatement. The day had kicked off with a rainstorm, and Nora really should have taken it as a sign. The next time she had to take drugs before going outside, she wasn't even going to bother. Instead of going trekking through the Commonwealth, she would find a book in stay in bed, or she would go hold up the bar at Third Rail. 

"I had it covered."

The day had really gone downhill after leaving Goodneighbor. The distance to Diamond City hadn't been terrible. In fact, before the bombs dropped, it would have been a really nice walk. The place was in ruins now, though. There were tons of places to hide, to stage an ambush, to lure unsuspecting persons. There were raiders at almost every corner, and if it wasn't a raider it was the freakish creatures John called Super Mutants. Bipedal, humanoid, freakishly big, green, and even though they spoke - they shrieked very clear, very frightening threats - John insisted that, like feral ghouls, they couldn't be reasoned with. They were just another creature roaming the Commonwealth that wanted to mindlessly kill anything it came across.

"The fuck you did! The fucker had a damn army!"

Diamond City sucked. It really sucked. Though seeing the stadium in any capacity was a punch to all of her nostalgia buttons, Nora hated it. She hated that John couldn't go inside ("No ghouls in Diamond City, love. Remember?"). She hated the way Mayor McDonough looked at her. It wasn't sexual, but it was like he was processing all of her pros and cons, judging, appraising. He also had a slime ball smile that Nora despised. She hated the way the cute, young journalist, Piper, looked at her, too. Actually, like McDonough, Nora didn't really like Piper, either. She was clever, sure, but she seemed manipulative. She very blatantly threatened the Mayor of Diamond City with her newspaper. From an outsider's perspective, it seemed slanderous - and Nora had been on the receiving end of that kind of journalism before. Nora had hoped that the rest of Diamond City was better, but it wasn't. 

The people were gossipy, and they looked at her with critical glares that told her that she was an outsider among them. They disparaged Ghouls, they called one another untrustworthy synths (whatever those were). For all of their talk about disgusting ghouls, Nora preferred the ghouls - no, the _people_ of Goodneighbor to the self righteous citizens of Diamond City. The folks of Goodneighbor were friends, they were family. They were drug addicted alcoholics, and they were ran by the Kingpin of the Commonwealth and his gang of armed guards, but at least they were pleasant. They were kind, and welcoming, and helpful. Diamond City was the physical manifestation of all of the hate and bigotry that was left in the world and Nora absolutely hated it. 

"What are doing down here anyway? And who is... this...?"

John had fed her instructions on how to get to his friend's office. The man's name was Nick, and he ran the Valentine Detective Agency and Nora hoped to God that it was actually her friend running the business. She wouldn't be able to bare it if it was some Joe Schmo who stumbled upon Nick's name in the paper and thought it sounded cool. The closer she got to the building, the more she told herself that it really was some Joe Schmo - that it wasn't her Nick Valentine that she was going to meet. Her Nick had been in a bad way the last time she saw him. After the murder of his Fiancée, Nick had fallen apart at the seams. He became obsessed with finding her killer, and Nora had very desperately tried to help him - but there was only so much she could do when Nick was pushing her away at every turn. The man running the operation in the Commonwealth was most definitely not her best friend... but then she met Ellie Perkins. Ellie. Nick had called her Ellie - he called her Ellie all the time, even when she told him that Nate hated it. It was a coincidence, she had thought. Just a big coincidence. With her anxiety still in full swing, Nora returned to John after she got as much information on Nick Valentine's last known whereabouts as she could. 

"Nick, Nora. Nora, Nick. Good, now that that's over, how about a fuckin' 'thanks for saving my ass', ya sonnova bitch?"

They tracked Nick to an old subway station downtown. It wasn't far from Diamond City, another pleasant walk in happier times. These days, it was riddled with more raiders, more super mutants, and feral ghouls. Out of everything that the Commonwealth had thrown at her, the ferals tied for her least favorite. They were right up there with deathclaws. They were fast, and they had jerky, unpredictable movements. John had faced off with them easily, the shotgun tearing them to ribbons before they did too much damage. Nora was reminded, once again, that she would have been dead a long time ago if it hadn't been for her soulmate. Nora had been given John when she had needed him the most. She wished she had accepted his part in her life and found him sooner. 

The station had been crawling with people, all sharply dressed, much like the members of the Neighborhood Watch, and all of them just as armed. John stood his ground to fight, and Nora stood with him. Neither one of them made it out without obtaining injuries. They had been shot at, beaten with bats, and nearly set on fire, but they somehow persevered. Stimpacks, Nora decided, were a God send. After John pried a bullet from her thigh, she watched him carefully inject the medicine into her skin and she marveled at the results. The blood was almost instantly staunched, the pain alleviated to the point where standing and walking around was no problem at all. The injury was still there, and it looked absolutely awful, but the pain was manageable and she wasn't a bloody mess. John insisted that he would get her properly cleaned up and bandaged once they finished up. He took care of himself, too, applying the stimpacks where he needed them, and then he pulled a couple of inhalers from his pack, giving them a good shake before he pocketed them. It was a drug. Nora knew that much, but before she could get the nerve to ask him why he brought them out in the middle of a battlefield they were faced with something Nora had hoped to never see again. A vault. 

"... How?"

The panic and anxiety hit Nora like a bus going full speed. Her heart leapt into her throat, pounding like a jackhammer as her skin broke into a cold sweat. She began to tremble, and for a long time it felt like she couldn't move. John had been gentle, and so patient as he tried to soothe her. He tugged her close, held her as tears gathered in her eyes and she started to hyperventilate. John offered to go alone. He offered to go ahead and go find Nick by himself, but this was Nora's problem. She was the reason why they had looked for 'Nick' in the first place. This was all for her, and she'd be damned if she didn't see it to the end. Nora reached out and channeled John's emotions, his level-headed calm, his battle-hardened nerves. She sent her anxiety to the dark corners of her mind, and they pressed on. 

"They pull some wires loose while you were here?"

They found the man impersonating Nick Valentine locked in one of the vault's many rooms. Except, it wasn't a man. It was some kind of machine. Glowing yellow eyes, and exposed machinery, gears, and wires. This thing wasn't human, it wasn't her Nick Valentine. Yet it had Nick's voice. It had Nick's posture. It even dressed like Nick, with his fedora and his long coat, and the tie that was haphazardly tied and pulled loose. Everything about the mechanical creature screamed Nick Valentine, down to her friend's perpetual downturned lips - but it wasn't Nick. There was no way. Absolutely no _fucking_ way. 

"Ellie. Ellie Morrison?"

But it was. It had to be. There had only been two people to call her Ellie. One was one of her husband's best friends, and the other had been her best friend. Nick Valentine. There was something in the mechanical man that knew her, it recognized her, and as the man stepped forward, and reached a frighteningly skeletal hand towards her, she accepted that this was her Nick Valentine, after all. Somehow, her best friend was the machine, and it both thrilled her, and broke her heart.

"Still g-getting into trouble, huh, Valentine?"

The sense of calm she had been channeling from John began to shatter, and at the first sign of the tears welling in her eyes, John suggested that they get the hell out of the vault. It was late in the evening by the time they made it back topside. Instead of heading back to Diamond City, to Nick's office, Nora was wholly surprised when Goodneighbor's familiar glowing neon came into view. Though she was a bit of a blubbering mess, she was more than pleased to be back in Goodneighbor, where she was welcome and her soulmate was allowed. They congregated in John's office, where they each took a seat. John and Nora occupied one couch, while Nick took up residence at the one across from them. 

"So," John started once they were settled. "Ya gonna tell me how you kids know each other?"  
"How are you still alive," Nick said, ignoring John's question as he leaned forward on his elbows. "And why... where is Nate? Shaun?"

Nora offered a watery smile, as John took one of her hands in his, "That's why I need your help, Nick."

So she launched into her tale, telling him about the vault near Sanctuary, about the man with the scarred face, about the murder, and the kidnapping. Nick looked very visibly troubled throughout the duration of the story. His trademark frown deepened, his eyebrows furrowed as he glared down at the coffee table. 

"Ellie..." Nick's voice was broken and soft as he finally looked up at her. "Nate was a good man," he said gently. "I'm..." the hand that was more intact reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose in a very human gesture. Then he glanced at John, and raised an eyebrow, "And, what... you're just a concerned citizen, willing to help the damsel?"

"My girl ain't no damsel. She stood toe-to-toe with those fuckers," John drawled, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the table. "And she's my soulmate."

Nick's glowing gaze shot to her, and then a slow smile appeared. It was soft, and it a little sad, but it was the first smile she had seen the mechanical man sport since they saw him in the vault. Then, he reached out, gesturing to the cigarettes. After John pulled one out for himself, he tossed the pack to Nick, who caught it and put one in his mouth. 

"So, you gonna tell me how you to know each other, or is this a fun secret you two are gonna keep?"

"You're lookin' real good for 250 years old, Ellie."

Nora scoffed, "242, thank you very much."

"Eh, fuck you guys."


	37. 029. Vehement

Thankfully Dr. Amari wasn’t too busy when Hancock dropped by her office in the Memory Den. The woman was stooped over her desk, glaring at some papers that had been scattered across her desk. Just from a quick glance, he could tell the woman was frustrated, and she was tired, and she most definitely needed a drink – or a smoke. Her shoulders were stiff, and her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She had been a busy bee lately, still seeing to the worst of the patients they had saved from the skin trade. 

“Yer gonna burn holes into that nice desk of yours, Doc.”

The woman’s entire body lurched. Wide eyes found his, and then she visibly eased, her shoulders slouching and her eyes closing when she realized who it was that startled her. 

“Didn’t mean t’spook ya. Just stoppin’ by to see if I can get some bandages and stimpacks.”

Nick had suggested that, maybe, Nora should drop by and get herself fixed up before he took her official statement. Hancock nominated himself to step out and get the supplies. He could wrap Nora up himself. Plus, he wanted to give the two a moment to themselves. Though they both seemed more than pleased with the other’s presence, there was a strange sort of tension that hung between them, and Hancock figured that they would both benefit from a moment alone. Maybe they could work shit out. Clear the air. Address the elephant in the room. 

“Of course,” Amari said as she stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of her lab coat. “Is everyone okay?”

Hancock leaned his shoulder against the door jam, hands dipping into the pockets of his coat. “Yeah,” he said. “Me ‘n’ Nora just wanna play Doctor. Doctor Hancock has decent ring to it, don’t it?”

Amari snorted, sifting through a couple of drawers in the tall tool box on the far side of the room. She pulled out a few stimpacks, gauze, medical tape. He watched her work, the tension in her shoulders mostly gone, but she still looked awfully weary. As she turned to him, the procured supplies neatly arranged on a small tray, Hancock stepped forward. He procured some supplies of his own; a small pillbox from one of his pockets. He shook out a single chalk-white tablet, then passed it to her in exchange for the tray. 

“Why don’t you take that ‘n’ call me in the morning.”

Another ladylike snort as she accepted the pill. “Thanks, Doctor Hancock,” she drawled. 

“Doctor _Mayor_ Hancock,” he corrected with a slanted grin. He flicked the corner of his hat with his index finger then turned to leave. 

Hancock took his time going back to the office. He stopped and chatted with Fahrenheit, letting her know that him and Nora would only be home for the night before setting out again the next morning. She filled him in on the day’s events. The arrival of Jensen’s family, as well as their departure. The still missing No-Nose. The start of reinforcing the walls that surrounded Goodneighbor. MacCready teaching Dog how to play dead. Hancock told Fahr about the vault, about Nick and Nora. Then, eventually, he went back to the office. Nick was alone, still sitting on his couch when he entered. There was a cigarette hanging between his lips as he carefully worked a screwdriver against one of the joints of his skeletal hand. 

“She went to go get cleaned up,” Nick said, exhaling a plume of smoke as he spoke. He didn’t bother looking up, too focused on his work. 

Nick and Hancock went way back – before Hancock left Diamond City. The old synth was a good guy, one of the few left in the Commonwealth. He had been there when Hancock had needed him, when his own brother kicked him to the wayside. As far as Hancock was concerned, Nick was basically family. The tension between his soulmate and his mechanical brother bothered him, and he wanted to ask if everything was alright between the two. For the time being, he would mind his own business.

“How was she,” he asked instead. 

“She’s alright. Had a long day, by the looks of it. I tried to tell her that we can wait until tomorrow morning to get her official statement but…” he paused long enough to take the cigarette from his mouth and flick the ash into the tray on the coffee table. “Well, I’m sure you know how she can be…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” he drawled as he turned. He wandered down the hall, the tray of supplies still in his hand as he went to Nora’s bedroom. Before opening the door, he reached through their bond. “Knock-knock.”  
The bedroom door creaked open, and he was wholly surprised when he was met with a dark, empty room. 

_”I’m decent.”_

“Bummer,” he replied, as he went to his own room. 

He opened the door and stepped inside. The room was lit with a lantern, basking the space in warm flickering light. She was on the far side of the room, near the big mirror. Her foot was propped up on the rungs of an old stool that he usually kept tucked out of sight in the corner. There was an open bottle of water in one hand, an old wash cloth in the other. She was clad in his shirt, and a pair of boxers, gently scrubbing at the dried blood that caked her thigh. There was a very distinct thrill that Hancock experienced whenever he saw her wearing his clothes. He supposed that it was because it was a visual affirmation that she was really his, sporting his clothes, standing in his bedroom. He wanted her sporting nothing but his coat and a pair of lacy panties. Maybe the hat, too. She’d be a fuckin’ vision.

“How’s it feelin’?”

“A little stiff,” she murmured, folding the cloth to access a clean swatch of material. She poured a bit more water onto the cloth, and resumed scrubbing. “It hurts, but it’s not terrible. When I got shot in the shoulder it was so much worse.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have any actual chems for it,” he growled softly. “Surprised it didn’t get infected.” He set his tray of supplies down on the end of the bed then moved towards his soulmate. 

Before Nora could protest, he took the wet cloth from her hand, and guided her to take a seat on the bed. He dragged the stool over, and sat down across from her, draping her injured leg over his thighs. He went to work cleaning her leg, using the cloth and the water to gently scrub at the blood and dirt that stuck to her flesh. He wanted to insist that she take the time to take a quick bath, but he had a feeling that she would fight him on it. She would want to get back to Nick quickly; the sooner the better.

Tight, meticulous circles were rubbed against her skin. The blood was steadily scrubbed away, starting at her thigh, and traveling down the length of her shin and curving around her calf. When he was finished cleaning up the blood, there was a small puddle of water on the floor from where he had rinsed and rung out the washcloth. The swatch of material was also stained beyond belief. He’d throw it away, later. Reaching out, he snagged a small bottle of alcohol from the tray of goodies Amari had given him, along with a wad of cotton balls. 

“Ya did real good today,” he told her, pressing the cotton balls to the opening of the bottle, and upturning it to douse the materials. 

Nora sighed softly, shaking her head as she stared at her leg. “I really didn’t, though.”

Hancock frowned, lifting his eyes to watch her face. “The fuck you didn’t.”

“Don’t,” she said, her voice sounding somewhat strained. “Please. Don’t… Don’t coddle me, okay?”

He through his arms up, supplies still in his hands. “Coddle you? The fuck do you mean—“

“Don’t say I did a good job when I was falling apart the entire time. I was distracted the whole way to Diamond City. I completely lost it when I saw the vault. God, and when we went inside—“ Hancock leaned down, placing the bottle and the cotton swabs down on the ground before he eased Nora’s leg from his lap. He reached out, taking Nora’s face into his mangled hands. “—I was a mess. The whole time.”

“The fuck you didn’t,” he said again, with more force, more urgency, more insistence. “You’ve been fuckin’ incredible since the day you crawled outta that vault. You thought about takin’ the easy way outta this mess and you didn’t. You decided to fight.” 

Hancock remembered it all too vividly. The wasteland known as the Commonwealth stretched before her in a sea of destruction. He had felt her sorrow, her shock, her heartbreak. She was sobbing, and he was sobbing, and when she picked up the pistol, turning it over in her hands… He had been scared, so scared that he couldn’t speak. All he could do was choke on his own breath as the ache in his chest blossomed and encompassed him. His soulmate had just come into his life, and had already started thinking about making her grand exit. 

But she didn’t. 

She didn’t take the easy way out. She decided to play the cards that she was dealt, as shitty as they were. 

“You coulda stayed outside, and I woulda gone in t’find Nicky. You coulda done shit the easy way but you didn’t. You decided to face yer fears and fight. When are you gonna start givin’ yerself some credit, huh?”

Nora was tilting her head into one of his hands, her eyes closing tight as she took a couple steadying breaths. “If I had been alone, I would have—“

Hancock dropped his chin to his chest, sighing loudly, “Fuck, man, how didja deal with this stubborn woman?” That soft voice faltered, and her cool fingers wrapped around his wrists. He didn’t have to peak into her emotions to know she was confused or curious. He didn’t even have to lift his head and look at her face to know that she was staring at him – but when he lifted his head, she was. She was staring at him, and he met her gaze head on. “Bet ya never won an argument against her. Not once, didja, brother?” he murmured, his voice quiet and raspy as he dragged his fingers down her cheeks. He swiped his thumb against that beautifully pouty lower lip. “Didn’t win one fair and square, anyway.”

“No,” Nora whispered, her voice so soft that he barely heard it at all. “No he didn’t.”

“’cause yer a fighter. It don’t matter how big the battle is,” he murmured, pulling her leg back across his lap so he could finish up. He snagged the alcohol, the cotton balls and gave the wound a quick swab. Nora grit her teeth, hissing softly, but he worked fast. Next came the Med-X, a little something to ease some of the aches and pains for the evening. Nora watched as he slid the needle into her thigh, watched as he pressed the plunger, and she quietly watched as he took some of the bandages and wrapped the wound. “It don’t matter what woulda happened if you had been alone today, ‘cause you weren’t. You are the one who decided to leave Goodneighbor to find your boy. You were the one who said that you’d go find Nick before Ellie even thought of asking. You had a couple’a hiccups, sure, but you fought yer way to that vault, and you fought yer way through it.” Again, he shifted her leg out of his lap, if only so he could lean in and give her a quick kiss. “You were fuckin’ amazing,” he said, and kissed her again. “Ya ain’t gonna convince me any different.”

Nora followed him, placing a quick kiss to his lips. “Thank you, John. For everything.”

Yet another kiss, soft and lingering. Then he stood slowly, finding her a pair of pants and some heavy woolen socks to put on so they could go back and see Nicky. He’d have to get her vault suit cleaned and patched up before they set out tomorrow. Once she was dressed, he took her hand and they went back to his office, so Nora could give Nick her statement. He sat beside her and held her hand as she spoke. When her voice broke, she pressed on, describing the coward that killed her husband and kidnapped her boy. Under her hurt, there was a steadfast anger that churned and boiled, heating her blood. There was a fury inside of his sweet Nora, and it was patiently waiting to be unleashed. 

The fucker didn’t stand a chance.


	38. 052. Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very many sorries. 
> 
> No excuses. Just lazy.

  
052\. Justice

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I think I know our guy.”

Diving into all of the gritty details had left Nora emotionally drained. One moment, there was a terrible sorrow that threatened to engulf her very existence. It threatened to shut down her mind, to send her spiraling into an endless pit depression. The next moment, she was practically seething with rage. The desire for revenge, for retribution, was so tangible she could taste it. She wanted the man’s blood. And then there was the stomach-dropping surprise. It wasn’t the fact that she wanted to kill the man that made Nora feel ill. It was the fact that she wanted to kill him slowly; she wanted him to suffer. She wanted to make him feel every bit of pain that Nate experienced when he wrenched their child away. Then she wanted him to feel the burning agony that she felt when her soulmate was torn away. She’d douse him in gasoline and light him on fire, if she had to – and she would watch him burn.

Nick had been nothing but professional as she recounted all of the details. He sat across from her, a clipboard in his lap, and pencil in his hand. He wrote down almost everything she said, a look of concentration screwing his features into a deep sort of scowl. Nora knew the look. She knew it well. It was hard concentration as he tried to sift through everything he already knew. None of his files were on hand, and he was trying to recall every vital bit of piece of information he could and compare it to whatever cases he had taken in the past.

Meanwhile, John was a pillar of support. He sat close, and let her squeeze his hand as she faced her personal demons. Though she could tell that he wanted to share his more calming emotions with her, he said nothing. He let her relive the memories with all of the anguish that came with it, and he didn’t push the issue. John just sat, listened, and held her hand – and that was what she had wanted. She didn’t want to experience his sense of calm. She wanted to relive that agony, she wanted it to fuel her hate, and let it be her driving force.

“Really? Where—?”

“Ellie,” Nick said, his voice firm. “There was a guy in Diamond City. Had a pretty nice place in the stands. He matches the physical description you gave me, and he had a kid.”

Nora’s hopes began to soar…

“The kid was probably about 9 or 10. It wasn’t an infant.”

… and then they crashed.

Her baby wasn’t a baby anymore. He was approaching his pre-teen years. She had missed so much; the first time he crawled, his first steps, his first words. More sorrow. More rage. More thirst for blood. She swallowed all of it down, and said in a crisp, even voice, “It’s worth looking into.”  
“Yeah,” Nick agreed, his glowing eyes fixed on her. Calculating. “It is. We’ll head to Diamond City tomorrow morning. Bright and early.”

When Nora physically deflated, John’s hand moved to run a soothing circle against her lower back, “It’ll be safer,” he said, speaking for the first time since they started. “Y'can’t find your boy if yer dead on yer feet.”

“Or dead.”

“Always the optimist, Nick,” Nora drawled as she slowly got to her feet. "I'm... I'm just going to go to bed."

John and Nick both got to their feet when she did. John kissed her cheek, telling her that he would join her in a bit. Nick looked a little uncomfortable, meeting her gaze with his glowing gaze.

Earlier, when John had left them alone, Nick had eased his way into informing her that he wasn't the same man that she remembered. He told her that the Nick Valentine she knew was gone - that he, the synth - was there in his place. They shared the same memories, and the same name, but they were different people. There had been a split second of heartbreak, before Nora shoved it all to the wayside. She could accept that, and it would have been foolish if she insisted that he was the real Nick Valentine. There was no way a man could transition into a machine without something getting lost or misplaced on the way. All the same, Nora stepped in close and wrapped her arms around the synth known as Nick Valentine. There was only a moment of hesitation before an arm curled around her, solid and firm and reassuring.

"I'm glad you're here, Nick," she rasped.

Synth Nick was as tall as her Nick. Tall enough that she could step in close and press her face into his shoulder - she had done it a million times before. Crying and upset, she would press her face into his shoulder, and hide in the lapels of his coat. There had never been a time when Nick Valentine had pushed her away. Not when they had just met, and the case took a turn for the worst. Not when Nate started to get pissed that there was some guy hugging on his soulmate, and definitely not when Nate threatened him with bodily harm. Not even when he met Jenny. Nick had always been there, a light in the darkness, radiant and bright and always welcoming. In the darkest of times, Nick Valentine was always there. 200 years later, and he was still there, accepting her into his arms just like old times.

Nora took a step back, looking into his ruined face and his vibrant eyes. She looked into the gaping holes in his neck that displayed more machinery underneath.

"Get some sleep, Ellie," Nick said gently. "We'll start again tomorrow."

Nora saw herself out, going straight to Hancock's room. She shucked the pants, removed her bra, then crawled into bed. Finding Nick had gotten them so much closer - closer than she had ever even thought possible. A missing person's case could be tricky. The longer the person was missing, the larger the area that needed to be searched. As time ticked on, it became less likely to find Shaun. Nora knew that she shouldn't get her hopes up - but it was difficult. What were the odds that, after all this time, Shaun was being kept somewhere in Diamond City? It almost seemed too good to be true, but she wanted to be hopeful. She wanted to think that her boy was there, safe and sound.  
It was a long 45 minutes later when John entered the bedroom. The door creaked open, and then closed softly. His footfalls were soft, even with his boots. She didn't move as she listened to the sound of his clothing being removed. She could hear the soft thunk of his boots as they were set aside. The clinking of his belt. The blanket lifted, and the mattress dipped with his weight. There was silence surrounding them, and then he sighed heavily.

"I can practically hear your gears turnin'," he rasped, as he scooted close. He pressed himself against her, his hand dragging the length of her side as he pressed a kiss to her neck and shoulder. When she didn't reply, he settled on his back on his side of the bed, sighing quietly. Nora eventually went to him, rolling around to face him, tucking herself against his side, resting her head on his shoulder, her hand splayed over his chest.

"Sorry," she said, once she was settled. "I know I'm being moody." She dragged her thumb over the gentle swell of his pectoral, following the grooves and indentions of his skin. "I don't mean to direct it at you."

"I know."

"I'm not used to feeling like this," she continued, her voice hitching in her throat. "I want to make him suffer. I've never..." she swallowed at the lump in her throat. "I've never wanted to hurt anyone, but I want him to suffer and... I feel like a..."

"You want him to pay for all of the hurt he caused you. No one will fault you for that. There isn't any justice here. Not anymore. If someone wrongs you, you gotta go make it right. Yer not a monster, love. Yer learning, adapting. It's just the way shit works now."

Nora shifted, moving to her knees before she leaned over him. She gave him a slow kiss. When she lingered, his fingers slipped into her hair, dragging her in close and stealing control for just a moment. When they parted she was a little breathless, a little dazed. She lowered herself back to the mattress and desperately tried to get to sleep.

-

There was a deeply planted restlessness that rooted itself in her bones. Even battered and bleeding, there was an intensity that she had never experienced before that urged her forward, deeper into Kellogg's home in Fort Hagen. She felt murderous even as she killed the synths that littered the halls of the old military base. It wasn't enough, the synths sparked and oozed fluids - but it wasn't blood. Nora wanted blood. Kellogg's blood.

When the man's voice echoed throughout the building, the murderous urge somehow intensified. It made her completely forget the burns that littered her body; the wounds left by seething hot energy and fired by the synth's weapons. It made her ignore the smell of her singed clothing, the cauterized wounds. It made her completely forget the throbbing ache in her ankle from a tumble she took when one of the synths had come at her with a baton. Nora had never experienced a rage so intense that she had tunnel vision, but the further they went, the easier it was to forget that John and Nick were there with her. She was no longer leeching off of John's calming emotions. She was fueled by rage, and hate, and the more that _fucker_ talked, the easier it was the power through whatever defenses he laid out.

It wasn't until Kellogg gave her an open invitation to come talk, when she hesitated. He said he would have the Synths stand down, that they could talk face-to-face. It was because he was trapped, cornered. It was because this was the end of the line, and he was out of choices. Before she could second guess herself, Nora shoved the door open and faced the man who single-handedly destroyed her life. 

The room was filled with old cubicles and terminals, leaving narrow walking spaces the travel through. There were synths in the room, watching with their empty glowing gazes, weapons in hand. The lights around the room flickered on, and the man who haunted her dreams emerged. There was a quirk to his lips, a slow but sure smile as his eyes locked with hers. 

"And there she is," he chuckled. "The most resourceful woman in all of the Commonwealth."

This was it. She tried to maintain her sense of calm, but the adrenaline was making her body quake, her rage boiled over to the surface. 

Her voice came out as an infuriated growl, "Where the _fuck_ is my boy?"

The man's weight settled onto one leg, and he gave her a quick once over. "Shaun? He's a great kid, ya know-"

"Shut up," she rasped. 

"So maybe he's not quite a 'baby' anymore, but he's doing great. Really. You'd be proud, I think."

Nora had dealt with people like Kellogg in the past. Cocky and full of themselves, hiding behind a facade of cool and collected as they tried to rile her up, and get her angry so she wasn't thinking straight. She knew better than to play into those games. She took a slow breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. 

"Where. Is. He."

The sonnova bitch rambled on, his gaze still appraising, trying to pick out her weaknesses - and she did her damned best to stand tall, and show him absolutely nothing. Her hand tightened on her pistol, her index finger already on the trigger. One wrong move, and she was putting a bullet in his head.

There was a soft whisper across her consience, _"Make your move. We gotcha."_

John. She had almost completely forgotten that he was here. And Nick. 

"He's not here," Kellogg continued. "He's with the guys pulling the strings. What's the term? So close, yet so far away? That's Shaun - but don't worry. You'll die knowing he's safe, and --"

No. Now, she wasn't going to die. He was. 

Before Nora could think twice, she lifted the pistol in her hand fired. Conrad lurched, stepping to the side, catching her wrist - the shot fired off into the backwall. Behind her, the room elapsed into chaos. John and Nick were firing their weapons at the synths, and the synths were firing their strange, high-tech weaponry. She was wholly unprepared for the punch that landed against her jaw, and she was even more unprepared for the leg that swept her feet out from under her. 

Nora was on her back before she even knew what hit her, Kellogg's looming figure straddling her waist. She was kicking, flailing her arms, not giving him a chance to reach for his gun. If he got his gun she would be dead - all of it would have been for nothing. He cocked his arm back to deliver another punch. There was a _woosh_ of air, and a sickening squelching thud, and he was yelling in pain, the familiar handle of John's bowie knife sticking from his shoulder. Before Kellogg could collect himself, Nora reached for the blade, yanked it from Kellogg, and then lodged it into his chest. The pain was too much for him, his eyes were wide, and be bared his teeth in a snarl.  
She stabbed again, closer to the center of his chest, ripping through the leather jacket, the belt that wrapped around his form and connected to his arm-piece. Yanking the blade to the side saw that Kellogg's body was shoved to the side. 

And again, the blade slicing into his arm. 

She crawled on top of him. 

Again, the knife slamming into his chest. 

And again, this time in the neck. 

Again. 

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again, and again and--


	39. 038.	Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More lazies.  
> Sorry.
> 
> Also, started a Ghoul!Nate/Nora/Hancock fic.
> 
> I have other fandoms, I swear.

It didn’t take long for Hancock to decide that he really didn’t like Sanctuary. It wasn’t the matter of locale, because the area was really quite gorgeous; all scenic and spacious. It smelled fresh – at least as fresh as the Commonwealth got, anyway. There was a water source nearby, and the structural remains of the houses in the old neighborhood offered enough materials to make the place a little more secure, a little safer. No, it wasn’t the locale at all – there was even enough room to get some produce started. No, no it was definitely the people. They were assholes. Every last one of them – well, maybe not all of them. The chilliest sonnova bitch in the whole settlement was some old bat that called herself Mama Murphy. The crotchety old bag hit them up for Jet no more than 5 minutes after they trudged into town, burned, and bloody, limping and tired. The rest of them, though? A buncha fucking assholes. 

Well, the robot was okay, too. He was a bit of a mother hen, but he seemed like good people. 

Everyone else, though. Assholes. 

Some were griping about how Nora had left them without a clean source of water, how they were hungry and running low on food. Others griped about building supplies when there was more than plenty of them laying around. Then there was the Minuteman, calling Nora a General and telling her how they all depended on her, and how leaving for as long as she did was irresponsible – it was only after he rebuked her when he offered to give her the medical attention that she obviously needed. None of them knew the amount of shit they had went through within the past 48 hours. No one knew the pain, and the heartache, and none of them seemed to care. They were too preoocupied with their own needs, and their own agenda. No one questioned the wounds that marred Nora’s skin – no one except the Mister Handy. The robot was at her side, asking about her condition the second he caught sight of the woman. He went on about how worried he had been about her wellbeing, and how she should have taken him with her. It was sweet, really, but Hancock already wanted to shoot half of the citizens of Sanctuary in the face. 

Fort Hagen had left him drained. His entire body ached, and he was riddled with bullet wounds and burns, and he was still borderline furious from that excursion – he didn’t need to layer on his irritation regarding Sanctuary and its peoples. 

The situation with Kellogg was maddening – all of it. What was worse, was that Nora flew into her murderous rampage before she could get any real information out of the guy – not like the sonnova bitch seemed too keen on sharing any vital information. His villainous monologue was vague at best. It was after, when Hancock pulled the enraged Nora from Kellogg’s destroyed corpse, when they were able to dig up the real information. 

Nora had stabbed Kellogg to the point where the man wasn’t recognizable. She went into a frenzy, stabbing his chest, his neck, and his face. His face was a fucking mess, and it was because of the level of decimation that they were able to find the interesting bit of machinery that was mingling with all the gore that had once been Kellogg’s brain. Though Hancock was likely jumping to conclusions, he felt that it was safe to assume that all of it was linked back to the Institute. Who else was handing out that kind of hardware? Certainly not the Minutemen. Nick seemed to think it was a safe assumption, and that was good enough for Hancock. Instead of chasing their potential lead, they opted to go North. It was dark when they got out of For Hagen and none of them were in any condition to take on any mutants that were likely wandering around the Fens. On top of that, the massive death-blimp was headed in that general direction, and Hancock didn’t feel like fucking around with that particular can of worms any time soon. It had been one of the very first things the trio saw when they exited the Fort, and it was chilling, and massive, and fucking hell – didn’t the people of the Commonwealth have enough bullshit to deal with? The institute was bad enough, now there was an aerial aircraft carrier floating around the Commonwealth. They announced their presence as they went, _“We are the Brotherhood of Steel…”_. Heading North made Hancock more comfortable than following in that thing’s shadow. Once they got to Sanctuary, he wished they had taken their chances and headed home. 

For the most part, Nora ignored the people they bypassed. She ignored the irritated glares, and the accusatory comments, but she didn’t shy away from them, either. She limped through town, with her back straight and her chin held high. It was only when someone commented on her choice of company when she visibly faltered. Her tired eyes narrowed, and she cut the culprit a deadly glare – only for Nick to press his skeletal hand against her lower back, and nudge her on forward. 

“C’mon, Ellie,” he drawled, looking just as tired as she did. “We’ll deal with it later.”

“Detective Valentine?” The robot practically yelled, his body swiveling, exhibiting his surprise and his excitement. “My word – whatever happened to you, sir?”

“Later, Codsworth…”

“Ah, um, yes! Come along, mum.”

At least Codsworth’s bedside manner was better than Charlie’s. 

They trudged on up the block, towards a house that still retained some of its structural integrity. The walls had been crudely reinforced, and even though it wasn’t a beautiful job, it was functional. They went inside, and Nora made a point to slam the door behind them. As Hancock lingered into the home, surveying the space, Nora stood next the door, and slowly unloaded her things onto the built-in shelves. Her Pip-Boy was pulled from her wrist, her gun belt and holster were unclipped, her pack slid from her shoulders – all of it was carefully stacked on the shelves, and then she crouched to loosen the laces to her boots. 

Nick had even pulled off his hat, and set it on the shelf as well. Hancock figured he would follow their example. He checked his weapons at the door. 

“Should I prepare some tea, mum?”

Nora rasped, “We have some?”

“Of course, mum. I have done a little scavenging of my own in your absence,” the Robot preened. He drifted across the room, towards the remains of the kitchen. There was a kettle there, ready – even a couple bottles of water. 

“That would be great, Codsworth,” Nora said as she stepped out of her boots. “Thank you.”

“Would you like some tea, Detective?”

Nick lowered himself into one of the cushions of the dilapidated couch in the living room. He groaned softly, his eyelids drifting shut as he relaxed. “No thanks, Codsworth. I gotta run some diagnostics.”

“Of course. And you, sir?”

There was a moment of pause, wherein Hancock realized that the old Mister Handy was talking to him. He had never really been one for tea. If it wasn’t water or alcohol, he generally didn’t even bother, but a warm drink sounded nice. 

“Sure, brother. Thanks.” He started to loiter to take a seat on the couch, only faltering when Nora started to head towards the short hallway to the left of the kitchen. “Nora, love. Come sit down, wouldja? Let me look at your ankle.”

Nora glanced over her shoulder, her hand reaching to steady herself against the wall. “I’m just grabbing a change of clothes.”

“We’ll be back in a minute, Nick.” Though Hancock ached to take a seat and fall asleep, he found himself following Nora as she turned and continued down the hallway. She walked the length of the hallway, then pushed open a door on the left side. It creaked ominously and she slowed to a stop. Nora surveyed the room as if it was the first time she had seen it. 

“He really has been busy,” she said, more to herself than to him. From over her shoulder, Hancock could see the inside of the room. The windows had been boarded up with old pieces of wood. There was a nightstand tucked into one corner, a barely-standing dresser in the other, and in the middle of the room was a pallet of blankets and pillows that looked far too inviting. Nora turned suddenly, walking right into his chest. He shuffled back, grasping her shoulders. In the brief moment that she was in front of him, her eyes were wide, looking teary and panicked. Without slowing, she lurched around him, and pushed open the door on the other side of the hall. Before he could fully turn around to see what the hell she was doing, he heard her sigh in relief. The room on the other side of the hallway was dark, but he could make out a broken crib, an old chair. She slouched, her head bowing as she took a calming breath. 

“Hey,” Hancock said softly, slipping his hand back to her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get a look at you.”

“John, you really don’t have to-“

“The fuck I don’t. Come on, love.”

Nora let him guide her back to the bedroom, an exasperated sigh leaving her as she limped forward. Before Hancock entered the room, he glanced down the hallway to see the robot staring down the hallway towards him. Slightly unnerved – the Robot looked a touch miffed, somehow – Hancock followed after Nora, closing the door behind them. Though parts of the walls were boarded up, there were enough gaps in the wood that some natural light still filtered in. If they were staying here, he would have to get that fixed up. 

The sound of a zipper called his attention from the walls. He looked towards Nora, seeing her tugging her arms out of the vault suit. A small white t-shirt clung to her frame, blood stained, and singed. The material of the suit bunched at her hips as she pulled open the dresser and peered inside. An old shirt was pulled from the drawer, followed by a pair of old men’s jeans. With her back still to him, she began to peel the shirt from her frame. Hancock lingered forward, his fingers finding the small of her back, tracing the outer rim of a gnarly bruise. There were other bruises on her ribs, her shoulders. There was blood and burnt skin. 

The Commonwealth had hardened Nora quickly. He remembered the first time she had been shot, and the pain she felt. She had babied the injury for days. Now she was soldiering through it, limping across the Commonwealth all bloodied and beaten, never faltering, powering through whatever physical and emotional pain that she felt. He had also noticed that, after killing Kellogg, she showed no remorse. She didn’t grief for the loss of life, nor did she lament the fact that she had been the one to take that life. Nora had remained a bundle of quaking fury until they were a couple of hours away from the Fort – and then she just seemed exhausted. 

Nora was learning, and adapting – and even though Hancock hated the fact that she had to learn the hard way he knew that, ultimately, it was for the best. 

“Hold tight,” he said softly, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck. “Let me get the first aid kit and we can get ya patched up.”

She looked over her shoulder with tired eyes, but nodded. 

Hancock left the room, walked down the hall, and retrieved her bag from the shelves. He glanced at Nick as he passed. The old synth was still as a statue, his eyes still closed. On his return trip he slowed, snapping his fingers a couple of times in front of Nick’s face, wondering if he was sleeping, or awake. 

“I’m busy, John.” He didn’t open his eyes. 

“Just lettin’ ya know that I’m getting her patched up. Gonna see if I can’t get her to take a nap, too.”

“Make her get some sleep,” Nick replied. “She needs it.”

Hancock left the conversation there, not wanting to comment on the fact that Nora could be as stubborn as a temperamental brahmin. As he moved back to the hall, he spotted two cups of steaming tea sitting on the island. He grabbed both, ignoring the way the Mister Handy’s optics focused on him, and followed his movements. When he returned to the bedroom, he kicked the wood with the tip of his boot. It opened a beat later. 

“I don’t think your fancy robo-butler likes me,” he drawled playfully, handing Nora one of the cups. She stood in her bra, the vault suit’s arms tied at her waist. Her front looked about as bad as her back, if not worse. More burns, more bruising, her jaw looked a little swollen, and there was even more bruising under her left eye. Fucking synths. Fucking Kellogg. 

Nora reached out and accepted the cup with both hands, immediately bringing it to her lips. She blew a couple puffs of air over the steaming liquid, then took a small sip. Her eyes closed slowly, and she inhaled through her nose. A quick peak through their bond revealed a distant sense of longing, of heartbreaking nostalgia. 

“Take a seat and we’ll get started.” He gestured to the pallet of blankets. 

The backpack was lowered down to the ground, and Hancock stepped back towards the door before he toed off his shoes. By the time he returned, Nora was sitting in the sea of blankets, her legs stretched out in front of her, her cup of tea clasped in both hands in her lap. He downed his tea in a couple of quick gulps – which he regretted, because holy shit it was hot – then moved behind her. After pulling the first aid kit from the pack he got to work. He cleaned the burns as well as he could, gently prodded at her back and ribs to see if anything was broken. He slowly worked around her. He cleaned the wounds, he bandaged the cuts and the scrapes. When he was done with her torso, he helped her into her t-shirt, and then helped her remove the vault suit from her legs. More burns, more cuts and bruises. He worked silently until he got to her ankle. It was visibly swollen, bruised, and he grimaced. She really shouldn’t have been walking on it. He made a mental note to look around for some crutches when he was finished. The ankle was tightly wrapped with an old ace bandage, and then he wedged a coupled of pillows under it to keep it elevated. 

“Thanks, John,” she said once he was finished, sitting in the stack of blankets, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties. He passed her a couple of pills, just some standard pain killers, and she swallowed them down with the rest of her tea. “For everything.”

“I’m just glad yer okay,” he said softly. He shrugged out of his coat, tossing it and his hat aside. Next came his vest, then the tunic. It was time he saw to himself, but when he reached for the supplies, Nora beat him to it. “Why don’t you sit and relax-“

“When you’re done, I will,” she replied, scooting in close as she got to work. Hancock didn’t fight her. He didn’t have the energy, and it’d be a lie if he said he didn’t enjoy the fact that she wanted to care for him as he had for her. 

“Nice house ya got here,” he eventually commented, his eyes closed as she tended to a laceration along his abdomen. “Not a fan of the neighbors, though.”

“Yeah,” she scoffed. “I don’t like them much, either.”

“We didn’t have to come here, ya know,” he said as he leaned back on his palms. “We coulda gone back to Goodneighbor.” He was real glad that they didn’t – but he knew that he would have to head back that way real soon.

Nora sighed, “This seemed easier. We should have just gone to the truck stop. I forgot how much I… disliked some of these people.”

Hancock chuckled, “I didn’t.”

Her lips quirked upward – the first smile she had shown in at least a full day, if not more. They chatted until she was finished and then, true to her word, Nora flopped back into the bedding and closed her eyes, sighing heavily. Hancock joined her, threading his fingers between hers. 

“I don’t particularly want to hang around here,” he admitted. “But you ain’t going anywhere until your ankle starts looking better.”

Nora sighed heavily, “I don’t want to stay either. I guess I can get them a working water purifier before we leave, though.”

Despite a couple of aches and pains, Hancock rolled to face Nora, propping himself up on his elbow. “Hey, I thought I told you that you didn’t owe these people shit. If they haven’t gotten anything done in your absence, then that’s on them, ya feel me?”

She nodded, licking her lips. “Have I apologized about that mess in Hagen, yet?”

“You don’t have to.”

“But-“

“Baby, if someone fucked with one of mine, I’d be the same way. So would Nick. Now close yer eyes, and get some sleep. You need some rest.”

Nora leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before lowering her head back to the pillows. Without another word, without any kind of verbal sparring, she closed her eyes. She was out in minutes, her breathing eventually evening out, heavy and slow. When he was sure that she wouldn’t wake up, he kissed her forehead, gathered his shit, and went back out into the living room. The Mister Handy made a very audible gasping sound when Hancock entered, still shirtless, boots off, clad only in his pants. He grumbled, accusing Hancock of doing something untoward to his mistress. Hancock ignored the Mister Handy – he wasn’t going to defend his honor to a glorified vacuum cleaner. 

“Hey brother, can I bum one?” he asked as he stooped forward to get his boots on. Nick, who had moved to the island, turned to eyeball him too, a cigarette clasped between his fingers. He shook another from the pack as Hancock redressed.

“She okay?”

“Out like a light.”

“Good. She was nearly dead on her feet. Where are you headed? You should get some shuteye, too.”

Hancock tugged his shirt back on, the vest, and the coat. He settled his hat back on the top of his head. When he reached out for the cigarette it was already lit and waiting. Hancock placed the filter between his lips and took a quick inhale as he went to the door. 

“Gonna go tell these assholes that they can all fuck off,” he rasped, grabbing his gun and knife.

Nick sighed, long and loud, “Oh, here we go…” Before Hancock could open the door, Nick’s hand reached past him, grabbing his gun and hat from the shelves. When he looked to Nick, eyebrows rising and vanishing under his hat, Nick rolled his optics. “You think I am going to let you traipse around here unsupervised, Johnny?”

Hancock snorted, opening the door, “You sure you just don’t want to tell them to fuck off, too?”

Nick didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, he was gesturing down the road towards Preston Garvey. “Why don’t we start with him?” He set off towards the Minuteman without another word.


	40. 043. Memorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words were carefully carved into the brittle bark of the ancient tree,
> 
>  
> 
> _Nathan Morrison_  
>  Beloved Father  
> Beloved Husband  
> Rest in Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Sorry.
> 
> It wasn't even lazies this time. I wrote this chapter, like, 5 times.  
> If things seem disjointed, that's probably why. 
> 
> I do intend to go back and do a buncha editing on this story at some point - this one will, hopefully, receive a full overhaul.

“You show up out of nowhere, and start this project now?”

Getting lost in machinery was so easy, which was still so surprising. Before the bombs dropped, Nora had never been mechanically inclined. There had been a couple of occasions where she had sat with Nate as he worked on the car, but she had never found it all that interesting. She didn’t know a screwdriver from a wrench, or a ratchet and she didn’t really care to know, either. These days, it was interesting, and attention grabbing. Maybe it was the circumstances – learn it or go without clean water; learn it or die.

“We have been drinking irradiated water for weeks. We’ve already dumped all of our money into RadAway. We don’t even have food.”

Only moments after Nora sat down to get started on the water purifier she acquired Marcy Long as a shadow. The woman had taken to standing just out of Nora’s peripherals, snarling and scowling at her as she rooted through Sturges’ tool boxes and scavenged equipment. It started with accusations of stealing Sturges’ things, and then it slowly evolved. As easy as it was to get lost in the process of building the water purifier, she was also very easily yanked back into the present by the woman’s ruthless comments and Nora, so desperately seeking an escape, found herself gritting her teeth until she couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. She was feeling emotional, and vulnerable, and Marcy Long was such a raging bitch.

"Get off your fucking high horse, Marcy,” Nora hissed, chucking her Philips head screwdriver down onto the floor. It bounced off the concrete with a hard crack, and then rolled off into the next room. “You haven’t done shit since you got here.“ In her rage, the profanity didn’t leave the typical sour taste in her mouth. She didn’t even feel guilty. All she had wanted was some time to sit and work, to gather her thoughts and maybe get the purifier up and running, and Marcy had stood there and insulted and patronized and Nora had no patience to deal with it. “And you’re over here bitching about food? _Food?_ ”

She would regret lashing out later, even if she was snarling at Marcy. Nate was probably rolling in his grave.

God, his _grave_. 

John and Nick had been busy while she had slept. Instead of getting some much-needed rest of their own, they had gone up that godforsaken hill. They had found a suitable place to bury her husband at the base of an ancient tree. They had taken the time to dig the grave, line it with blankets and a plush pillow, and then they retrieved Nate from the vault. Nora had been clueless to all of it, of course, as she had been fast asleep… 

“If you had put in any effort at all, you could have been making your own produce already.” She knew that much from Wiseman and the other ghouls at the Slog. There was a surprising amount of food in the Commonwealth. Wild carrots, corn, grain. It took a little work to find, but it wasn’t difficult. In fact, she was sure that she could run and find some wild Tato’s before the sun set, and it was already starting to get dark – and she had a bum ankle. “So don’t you dare put that shit on me-“

There was the sound of a throat clearing that made Nora flinch as if she had just been reprimanded. She turned, pivoting her body to peer past a dumb-struck Marcy towards Preston. 

“Am… I interrupting?”

Marcy took a breath to speak, probably raring to take this verbal spat even further, but Nora quickly replied, “No. You’re not.”

“Um. Good…” His eyes shifted between the two. “Can I… Nora, can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”

Alone – she just wanted to be alone. For an hour. Nick had been the first to part ways with her. After the grave was filled, her synthetic friend stepped forward, his palm cradling the back of her head while the other arm looped around her in a tight embrace. It was a gesture that the human Nick had done many times in the past, and for all of synth’s insistence that he was _not_ Nick Valentine, that had been a very Nick Valentine gesture. John had been a little hesitant. After helping her back to Sanctuary, he had lingered for a handful of minutes, visibly exhausted, but worried as wave after wave of sadness reached him through their bond. It was at Nora’s insistence that John left her to go get some rest. The second John was closed inside the bedroom, Nora was hobbling towards the door and heading towards Sturges’ workshop with her things. Marcy appeared a moment later; a predator ready to attack weakened prey. 

Nora’s eyes swiveled to Marcy pointedly – and Preston’s gaze followed suit. Typically, Nora would be on her feet and taking Preston off to the side to talk, but her ankle was aching and she was riding a nice mean streak. She remained seated, staring at Preston with a level gaze. 

Preston managed a gentle, “Marcy…” before the woman scoffed loudly and stomped off. Once the dragon lady was gone, Preston stepped closer, and took a knee to situate himself beside her. Nora turned her attention back to the purifier. She hated the surge of emotion she felt when she remembered that she had thrown her screwdriver, and hated it even more when she couldn’t even remember where she had stopped in the process of piecing the purifier together. So much for an escape. 

“I wanted to come and apologize.” Nora’s gaze tore from the mess of a machine and looked towards him. “I’ve been pushing the whole ‘General’ thing at you pretty hard. There has been a whole lot of pressure, being one of the only Minutemen left. I guess I jumped at the chance to pass the torch.”

Nora scoffed, dropping her gaze back to her lap. “I’d say you more than jumped.”

Preston nodded, removing his had to drag the sleeve of his coat over his forehead. She could see the motion out of her peripherals. She was afraid to look at him, knowing that she would see nothing but sincerity in the man’s eyes – because that was the type of man Preston was. It would take some of the heat out of her anger, and if she wasn’t angry and snapping, she was liable to burst into tears. 

“I know, and I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about you, and I tried to push a whole lot of responsibility on your shoulders. You don’t owe anyone anything. You saved our lives in Concord, and then you let us set up shop in your home.” Nora’s eyebrows creased, and she turned her head to look at him. At her narrowed gaze, Preston added, “Codsworth said that you were in that vault on the hill.”

She’d have to talk to Codsworth about that. Given the fact that there had been someone in this very settlement selling information about her, she could only assume that the Mr. Handy unit was the source. He was friendly by nature, and it could have very easily been her downfall if it hadn’t been for John and MacCready.

“I’m not fit to lead much of anything right now, Preston. Really,” she eventually sighed. “The first day I met you was the first time I had ever used a gun with the intent to kill someone. The only reason why I managed to get out of that mess alive is because I had my soulmate barking orders in my head the whole time.”

Preston shifted awkwardly. “The ghoul.”

“Hancock,” Nora corrected. The ghoul traipsing around in authentic colonial garb. The ghoul who had rose to lead the infamous Goodneighbor. The ghoul who had somehow managed to wiggle his way into her heart. Nora tried to read Preston’s face as his eyes shifted away, off to the side. His lips drew into a slight purse, and he seemed to be looking just about anywhere but her. It all read as piteous, and it stirred her ire even more. “Didn’t take the Minutemen to be against ghouls.”

"No, I'm - we're not! I can just... imagine. Coming out of the vault, learning that your soulmate looks like, well…”

Nora dropped her gaze back to the mess of machinery, at the grease staining her palms and clothes, then at the work space as a whole. She licked her lips. John wasn’t conventionally attractive. No, ghouls in general were a bit unsettling at first. Destroyed skin, no nose, parts of exposed muscle, sinew, and bone. They were still people, though. Still human. Ghoul or smoothskin, though, John was in a league of his own. With his endless confidence and his lazy smiles. Though Nora was sure that it was terribly possible that, under normal circumstances, that she would have at least forged a sturdy friendship with the ghoul mayor – theirs weren’t normal circumstances. They were bound together, by fate, or magic, or stardust. Whatever it was. Outside of her initial resistance, there was no part of her that had an aversion to John, regardless of who he was, or what he looked like.

“That doesn't matter. He's mine," she said, looking back to him. "He could have been a super mutant, and he still would have been mine. There is no point where I had been put off by what he looked like." She had just been put off by the fact that he existed - but Preston didn't need to know that. "And before you say anything, the Synth-"

"I wasn't-"

"- was my best friend before the bombs dropped. I don't care what anyone says, if anyone messes with him - or John - I'm not going to be happy about it."

"We wouldn't-"

"You can't vouch for the people here, Preston. Not all of them. You want people to rely on your Minutemen so much that you've placed a whole lot of trust in folks you may not even know. Blind acceptance isn't going to get the Minutemen off the ground. In fact, you’re probably digging yourself into a hole. You need to carefully consider the people that you let into your ranks. You shouldn’t just accept everyone you come across – and you sure as hell shouldn’t make some random passerby your general."

Preston's gaze narrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw worked, and as he took a breath to defend himself, there was a husky chuckle that made his head whip around.

"Shit, my girl's got her claws out tonight, huh?"

Preston straightened to his feet just as John approached. It had been maybe an hour and some change since he had gone to go get some rest, and Nora could tell that he was still exhausted. She shifted to push herself to her feet, intent with getting him back to bed, but John plopped on the ground beside her, placing a kiss to her cheek. 

"Whatcha workin' on, love?"

Nora eyed the machinery in front of her and sighed, “Nothing.”

John leaned in, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Ya know what you _should_ work on?"

"Hm."

"A pillory. We can take this shit old school." He lifted his head, raised his voice, "It would be a hell of a way to deal with bitchy eavesdroppers!" There was a soft gasp, the crunch of dry dirt and gravel as an unseen spectator retreated. John dropped his head back to her shoulder, "'Cready was right. She's a fucking dragon lady." There was a beat of silence, and a long sigh. “Somethin’ on yer mind, Garvey?”

Preston visibly faltered, “No. Nothing more.” He dipped his head. “Nora, Mayor – have a good night.” 

John waited only a handful of seconds before he was pushing himself to his feet, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that kinda language outta you, sweets.” He offered his hand down to her, and Nora took it. He helped her to her feet. Before Nora could make any excuses, he flashed her one of her favorite lazy smiles. “I like it.”

Nora let her soulmate steer her towards the house. She tried to push off the creeping sense of dread as he guided her through the front door, and then down the hall. She tried to remove the tightness in her throat with a firm cough. Once in the bedroom, John lowered her down into the mess of blankets. Though she sputtered and insisted that she really wasn’t tired, he would hear none of it. In the darkness of the bedroom, she heard the rustle of clothing, the shifting of blankets, and then she felt herself pulled into his embrace. In the quiet of the room, away from the prying eyes of Marcy Long and the rest of the settlers, her eyes began to well with tears no matter how hard she tried to fight them off. She could no longer ride that bitter anger she held for Marcy, or the feelings of resentment towards Preston. 

“Tell me ‘bout the time Nate punched Nick.” John’s quiet request caught her off guard, and she found her lips curling into a smile despite her tears. 

“How did you know about that?”

“Nick said Nate punched him in the face once,” John said. His voice was ragged due to lack of sleep, but he was fighting to stay awake, to help her with her grief. “Tell me.”

Nora sniffled, and cleared her throat but her voice remained airy and the tears didn’t stop – but she was smiling as she started her story, “Nick and I met while Nate was on deployment. We’d been working together for a few months before Nate came back home…” 

She kept her voice quiet, so John could get some sleep. One story slipped into another, shifting from the time Nate punched Nick, to the time Nate set the kitchen on fire, then to the time Nate forgot to get coolant for the car and they ended up stranded in the middle of no where – and somewhere in the midst of her story telling, John fell asleep and she followed him not long after, drifting off in the midst of recounting another one of her favorite memories.


End file.
